One Hundred Pebbles In A Glass Jar
by sitabethel
Summary: 100 Thiefshipping drabbles loosely connected to show Marik and Bakura's relationship over a couple of decades. Rated M for certain drabbles scattered throughout the fic.
1. resurrection

*****AN: Today is my birthday and I wanted 100 Thiefshipping Drabbles. So I wrote 61, uhhhh, it's a work in progress. I'm going to post 1 drabble a day so I have plenty of time to write the others :) These will be loosely related, as if we're peaking in on Marik and Bakura, but only seeing a few seconds for about twenty-ish years of their relationship. If you like the idea of getting a different drabble warning sent to your email each morning then you should subscribe! If the thought of only 100-250 words of Thiefshipping at a time is as insulting to you as a crack head only getting one hit of crack a day . . . then maybe check in every week or so. Reviews are nice, but even if no one else likes it - bugger off, it's my birthday present :) *****

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><p>Marik slapped his hand over his mouth to keep the scream muted when he turned on the light and noticed the thief laying on Marik's bed. "Bakura?"<p>

A slow smirk curled high on the thief's face. "Surprised to see me?"

Marik nested his hands on the ledge of his hips. "Surprised to see you in my bed? No, that was inevitable. Surprised to see you return from the Shadows yet again? No, also inevitable. Perhaps I'm a little surprised that you look the same although you're no longer in Ryou's body. How did you come back this time?"

Bakura shrugged. "Magic. Gods. I rolled a Super Critical. Shit, I honestly don't know, but you don't survive as long as I have without learning to roll with the punches."

Marik studied Bakura, the look on his face reminiscent of their first meeting as a plan stormed behind his lavender eyes. "Hey Bakura?"

The thief raised an eyebrow.

"You can throw dice, right?"

"Sure."

"And I can count cards."

"For all the good it did us against the Pharaoh."

"Nevertheless . . . want to fly to Vegas and see how much we can 'win' before they kick us out?"

"Sure, I got nothing better to do. Not anymore."

"Let's go."

A sultry look adorned Bakura's countenance. "You don't want to welcome me back first?"

Marik smirked. "Don't worry, I'll give you a proper welcoming on the jet."


	2. midnight snack

Bakura stretched like a sleek, white cat. "I'm hungry."

Marik glanced up from his book and then his eyes dropped back down. "You know where the fridge is."

"I don't want to cook."

"Well I'm not cooking for you."

"Then take me out. Let's find something questionable out of a cart."

"That sounds like a horrible idea."

"C'mon. It's good for the immune system."

"What the trauma of cart food? I drink Kefir. Why don't you go get some if you're so hungry."

"I'm also bored." He stole the book from Marik's hands and dropped it to the ground."

"Hey, asshole. I'm reading that."

Bakura smirked. "Take me out and when we get home I'll suck you off."

Marik opened his mouth to argue, but when the words 'suck you off' hit his brain he became thoughtful. "Rim job, too?"

Bakura licked his lips. "That depends on if I have fun while out or not."

Marik snorted and grabbed his motorcycle keys. "I'm sure I can find a way to make this fun."


	3. tea house

*****Disclaimer: Citrus.*****

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><p>"Let's go drink some tea," Marik suggested.<p>

"We have tea here."

"Yeah but I'm bored."

Bakura kukuku'd low in his throat, flicking the stray white hairs away from his face. "Didn't we have a similar conversation last week?"

Marik opened his closet door, scanning the clothing hanging in meticulous order. "Yeah, and if I remember correctly, I went and ate disgusting, greasy mystery meat on a stick with you."

"And if I remember correctly, I gave you both a rim job and a blow job to show my _appreciation_."

Marik glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "Oh yeah. I think I remember that as well."

"You ought to, I lost count of how many gods you called out to before I finished."

"Yes, that was a nice night."

"Soooo . . ."

Marik went back to the closet. "So, do you want to get some tea?"

"No."

"I won't make you do something you don't want to." Marik chose the outfit he wanted and laid the clothes over a chair near the closet. "Although, it's a shame, because I was going to return the favor you gave me last time."

Bakura smiled, hearing what he wanted to hear. "On second thought. I am a little thirsty."

"Yes, but you don't want to go out, so I'll brew tea here."

"No, no. You want to go out. Far be it for me to keep you pent up inside."

Marik shrugged. "Changed my mind. I have chai here. That's my favorite."

"Oh shut up, and let's go."

Marik stepped closer to Bakura. "Beg me to go."

Bakura marched up to Marik, stopping an inch from his face. "I don't beg, Ishtar."

"We'll see about that." Marik slipped his hand down Bakura's pants. His fingers easily found Bakura's cock, already growing from mention of blow jobs and rim jobs.

Bakura hitched against Marik's body. "Fucker, that's cheating."

"There's no cheating in the games we play, Bakura."

A groan muffled out of Bakura's closed mouth as Marik worked his fingers up and down Bakura's shaft.

"Good, huh?"

Another soft groan.

"Wouldn't it be better if it was my mouth? And all you have to do it say a few nice words, Bakura."

"Fucker, dirty fucker."

Marik chuckled. "Well, that's a start, but I bet you can get even nicer."

Bakura bit his lip, a lusty growl rumbled from his throat. "Fuck it. Fine." Bakura netted his fingers into Marik's luminous hair. "Marik." He half-moaned half-growled. "Marik. Please . . . let's go . . . ahh . . . tea . . . oh fuck. Fuck. Don't stop. Please don't stop. Please Marik."

Marik's expression unraveled as he watched Bakura writhe against him. He grabbed Bakura's wrist with his free hand and moved it to his own belt line. "Do me, too."

Unable to argue, Bakura pulled at Marik's pants until he got them unbuttoned and zipped down and was stroking Marik as well. They bucked into each other's hands until both were spent and out of breath. They stumbled to the bed and fell down.

"Nap, then tea," Marik muttered.

Bakura nodded in agreement, already falling asleep.


	4. gay bar

Bakura sank on the sofa – a shimmering, eggshell-white creation with hand embroidered brocade – and leaned towards Marik. "So I heard about this club in Cairo."

Marik winced at Bakura's indifferent treatment to the furniture. "You remember this couch is silk, right? If you tear it, you have to buy me a new one."

Bakura pushed Marik on his back and straddled him, grinding his hips against Marik's lower body. "Marik, do I have your attention now?"

Marik tried to scowl, but he couldn't keep his lips from curving upward. "I suppose."

"I heard about this club in Cairo."

"Why on earth would we go to a club? And if we were dumb enough to go to a club, why not one in Luxor?"

"Because _this_ club has really good reviews, and _this_ particular club won't have any giggling, idiot girls trying to impress you while _I'm_ in the middle of a conversation with you."

"I think we were in the middle of an argument, actually."

"I like those even more than our conversations."

"Oh? Should I turn this into an argument then?"

"Only if you want stains on your precious couch."

Marik flipped them over so they landed on the carpet with Marik straddling Bakura. "Problem solved." He bent down and nipped at Bakura's neck. After a moment he raised his head. "Why do you want to go to a club anyway?"

Bakura looked away. "You're an idiot."

Marik blinked for a moment, an uncharacteristic blush glowed on his cheeks as an idea dawned on him. "I mean, you don't actually want to dance with me . . . do you?"

"Fucking idiot." Bakura scowled. "Hurry up and fuck me so I can go take a nap."

Marik grinned when he realized that was exactly the reason Bakura wanted to go - if he wanted to admit it or not. Marik kissed the center of Bakura's throat. "No." He grabbed Bakura's chin and forced Bakura to look in his eyes. "I'm not in the mood for one of our hard, quick fucks. Today I think I'll take my time." He bent down and kissed Bakura, softer than he'd ever kissed him before.


	5. family

They sat at the table, drinking coffee. Bakura stabbed at a piece of toast with his finger, half asleep and uninterested in his breakfast. Marik sat across from him, already dressed, groomed, and eyes lined in Kohl; however, he also played with his toast, ripping it into small pieces instead of eating it.

"I want to go back to bed," Bakura muttered.

"My sister wants me to visit this afternoon. She's going to cook and then we'll probably play cards – she always loved doing that."

"Have fun." Bakura took his butter knife and carved a little Pharaoh shaped doll out of his toast. He grinned as he stabbed it with the knife.

Marik wrinkled his face when he noticed what Bakura was doing. "Really?"

"What?"

"That. What you're doing to your food."

"Come on." Bakura bit the Pharaoh's head off and chewed with triumph. "It is way too early in the morning to be mature."

"I want you to come with me," Marik blurted out.

Bakura raised an eyebrow. ". . . back to bed?"

Marik rubbed his temples. "I wish. No. To my sister's place."

Bakura pushed himself away from the table. His chair scratched across the floor. "Uhh – that's a bad idea."

"I don't care."

"Does she even know I'm alive?"

"No . . . you'll be a surprise."

"Ha. I knew you could be cruel, Marik, but you're really outdoing yourself with this one."

Marik stared at the crumbled bits of toast on his plate. "She keeps asking when I'm going to bring a girlfriend over."

Bakura laughed.

"It's not funny."

"Yes it is."

"Then you can laugh all the way to her apartment, asshole."


	6. plan b

*****This one and the next one weren't part of the original set. Hopefully I'm not the only one that thinks Ishizu could out-troll Bakura if she were ever motivated to do so.*****

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><p>Bakura's original plan consisted of scowling, crossing his arms over his chest, and avoiding eye contact. Then he had a better idea – be nice. Not just civil. Nice. Sweet, like the scent of decay from a shallow grave.<p>

Marik had a key so he let himself into Ishizu's home. "Sis? I'm here!" Marik called as they stepped into the foyer and made their way to the living room.

"Marik." Ishizu rushed to meet him. She gave him a brief hug before noticing Bakura standing in the shadows. She started and stared at him. "And you brought . . . Ryou? With you?"

Marik toyed with his gold bracelet. "No, not Ryou. He's, um, the spirit that was trapped in the Ring."

Ishizu's eyes darted from Marik to Bakura. "How? The door to the afterlife should have closed after the Ceremonial Duel."

They both shrugged since neither of them knew how to answer her question.

"It must have been the gods," Marik offered, choosing the answer he knew would most placate his sister. "I mean, who else would have the power or ability?"

Before Ishizu had the opportunity to respond, Bakura wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her on each cheek. "Hello, we've never properly met. Call me Bakura."

Ishizu stared at Bakura as if she expected him to turn into a snake and bite her. Marik glared at Bakura as if he might punch him, which made the entire game worth it.

By the end of the afternoon, Bakura would ensure that Marik never made the mistake of dragging him over to his sister's house again. Bakura took the initiative and strolled into the house proper. "You have a lovely place."


	7. and right back to plan a

So he sat on Ishizu's sofa, sipping tea with a Ryou-grade smile on his face. Ishizu sat across from him in a chair with her mouth hanging ajar. Marik and Rishid sat to Bakura's right. Their suspicious frowns a perfect copy of each other. Even without being blood related, it was obvious they were brothers by the matching expressions on their faces.

"So . . ." Ishizu held her tea cup like a shield in front of her. She kept her gaze on Marik. As much as she looked like she wanted to scream, her good manners kept her glued together. "So . . . are you helping him get back on his feet?"

Bakura forced himself not to chuckle. Marik was more likely to help Bakura down to his knees before he ever lifted him to his feet.

Marik stared into his tea cup. Anyone else, and Marik would have had a forceful, sarcastic answer at the ready, but it was his sister – the one person in the world that brought the sincerity out of Marik's character.

"Well, um, not really. You see – the thing is—"

Bakura grabbed both of Marik's hands into his own, his stupid, cheerful grin never leaving his face. "Don't worry, Marik. Your family cares about you, and I'm sure that they only want you to be happy regardless of your life choices."

Bakura had to admit, he was damn good at acting. He wanted to vomit into his tea cup, but it was worth the look of horror on Marik's face.

Ishizu blinked. She looked like a gazelle, all grace and nervousness. "Marik?"

"Um, what Bakura's trying to say is—"

"That we're going to be together forever." Bakura leaned against Marik's shoulder.

Marik pushed him away in disgust. "Okay, that's enough, asshole. Stop it right now!"

Bakura blinked at Marik. "Whatever do you mean, Marik dear?"

"This isn't funny, Bakura. This is hard enough for me without you acting like a complete dick."

"Well," Bakura snapped without his fake smile, "you should have known better than to bring me along."

"Is a little support too much to ask for?"

"We're not dueling the Pharaoh. You don't need my support against your sister."

Marik growled, combing his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Gods, can't you think for five seconds? What if it were your family? Wouldn't you be a little . . . hesitant to have this conversation?"

"No," Bakura argued. "Not at all, because it's your family – family always has your back. That's how it was—" Bakura looked away. "Before. That's how it was with my family."

Marik stopped and looked at him. Bakura paused for a moment, realizing the conversation veered into an area he hadn't meant for it to go. He resorted to plan A, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest. Marik reached out as if to comfort Bakura, but pulled his hand back and stared at his tea sitting on the coffee table.

Rishid broke the tension. "Well, you two always did argue like a married couple. I'm glad to see you've made it official."

Marik's eyes bulged. "What?"

"It's not like _that_." Bakura kept his arms crossed and kept the scowl on his face.

It was Ishizu's turn to smile, sweet like the scent of decay from a shallow grave. "Actually, by Tomb Keeper law, if you share a bed then you are married to each other."

"Well, I'm not a Tomb Keeper!" Bakura shouted.

Rishid sipped from his tea cup. "But you are from ancient Egypt. Didn't they have similar marriage customs? Most research suggests the mere act of living together defined a marriage."

Once, _once_, Bakura wanted to have a scheme that didn't blow up in his face. He growled his protest in a few select curses, but that didn't detour the cheerful smile from Ishizu's face. "Congratulations, Marik, it's about time you settled down." She turned that wicked, vengeful smile on Bakura. "Welcome to the family."


	8. staying in

Marik looked over at Bakura. "What are we doing tonight?"

Bakura curled against the oversized throw-cushion at the end of the couch. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yup. Nothing."

"Aren't you bored? You're always complaining that you're bored."

"Nope, not bored. I'm comfy."

"Delivery and movies, then?"

"Perfect."

After their dinner, and halfway through the movie, Bakura slumped against Marik's side and used Marik's shoulder as a pillow.

Marik smiled. "That's almost cuddling, you know."

"Too comfortable to care."

Marik leaned his head against Bakura's.

"That's even more like cuddling."

"Why should you be the only one comfortable?"

Bakura smirked and slipped his hand into Marik's.

Marik chuckled, it began sardonic, but ended as a sincere, breathless sound. "What are you doing?"

Bakura shrugged, and Marik could feel the movement brush against him because of how close they were. "I don't do anything in half measures. All or nothing, Ishtar – your move."

Marik tossed the throw over their laps, readjusted so that his right arm wrapped Bakura in a behind the back half hug, and rested his head back on Bakura's hair.

Bakura gripped his hand again and nuzzled a little deeper into his side as they returned their attention to the movie.

*****Leave it to these two to turn cuddling into a competitive sport.*****


	9. vacation part 1

Bakura looked at Marik like a cat with cream clinging to its whiskers. "Hey, Marik?"

"You have a tone."

"What tone?"

"In your voice. You're going to suggest something ridiculous."

"Never."

"Mmm-hmmm, we'll see. What were you going to say?"

"Let's go to the Luxor Museum."

Marik wrinkled his face. "Why?"

Bakura leaned a little closer and whispered, "let's go at 2:00 a.m."

"Oh no."

"And steal some shinny things."

"Bakura, you know Ishizu works there."

"And then fly to Spain and mail whatever we stole back to the Museum."

"Why would you give back stolen artifacts?"

"Gives the authorities two chances to catch us. Double XP. Also, it confuses people and that amuses me."

"And then what do we do once we're in Spain?"

Bakura shrugged. "Anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Provided we don't get caught."

Marik grinned. "Pack your bags. We'll case the Museum tomorrow morning."


	10. vacation part 2

They raced into their motel suite. Marik slipped the "do not disturb" sign on the door and locked it. "Thank the gods we're back in the hotel."

"I itch _everywhere_." Bakura scratched his stomach to illustrate his point.

"Why do they make sex on the beach sound so fun? That wasn't fun. I have sand everywhere."

"Shit, we could have stayed in Egypt and fucked in the sand."

"I need a shower."

"Screw you, Marik, I'm taking the first shower."

"Like hell you are. This dumb trip was your idea."

"But having sex on the beach was _your_ total genius at work."

"I have sand in between my scars."

"I have sand in my ass crack."

They glared at each other a moment and then broke into a fit of laughter. Marik grabbed Bakura by the hair and pulled him towards the shower. "You can help scrub my back."


	11. vacation part 3

They went to see a Flamenca dancer. She stood tall, stomping her feet and curling her fingers and wrists as another woman clapped in beat with the guitar. The stomping and clapping gave the music a defiant, astute quality and Bakura sat tranced, dark eyes trained on each flourish of slender fingers and strike of heal on stage.

Marik leaned over and whispered into Bakura's ear. "I've never seen you stare so intently at a woman before."

"Shhh."

"What? No sardonic, witty retort to that?"

"Shhh."

"You. Speechless. This is amazing."

"Marik."

Marik snickered low in his throat.

Bakura blew out an exasperated sigh, turning to catch Marik out of the corner of his eye. "Fine, here's the deal. Let me watch this without your commentary, and I will treat you like a god tonight in the bedroom."

Marik bit his lip at Bakura's offer, but wasn't yet satisfied. "How so?"

"Foot rub, rim job, then I'll ride you, but you have to stop talking _right now _or the offer's off."

Marik felt his jaw drop a touch at Bakura's words. He always enjoyed when Bakura climbed on top of him and did all the work as he watched. It often reminded Marik of a thousand white ribbons caught in a storm, and was his favorite way to be made love to . . .

Marik's mind froze a moment at the word choice of his thoughts. When he thought of Bakura he thought of fucking, screwing, banging, and having sex – the concept of 'making love' never once entered their vocabulary or even Marik's thoughts until that moment. He tried to think of how long they'd been fooling around together. Two years? Three? Almost three.

Maybe he'd give Bakura a foot rub first.


	12. fine dining

*****Foie gras is fatty goose liver. I've never tried it, and I think the method of fattening the goose (or duck) is abhorrent. People cram a tube down their throats and force feed them, but I don't think that would stop Marik from trying a delicacy, however, so he eats it in this drabble anyway. Ug, so glad I'm eating bbq'd tempeh for dinner. Oh, and plating is how you arrange the food on the plate.*****

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><p>Bakura leaned across the table and hissed at Marik. "What the hell are we eating? Is this cat food? It looks like cat food."<p>

Marik rolled his eyes. Their plates sat on meticulously pressed table clothes near crystal stemware filled with water and champagne. Marik didn't often eat meat, so when he did he made sure it was high quality. "It's foie gras."

"I'm pretty sure they just dumped a can of Fancy Feast on a plate and charged you way too fucking much for it."

"Oh shut-up, your steak will be out soon."

"Their plating isn't even that good. The colors are too bland."

Marik chuckled at that. "I'm surprised you even know what plating means."

Bakura snorted and stared at the candle center-piece.

Marik waited for Bakura to say something, but he'd become quiet. "Well?"

"What?"

"When did you become such an expert at plating?"

"I never said I was. I only pointed out that we're eating cat food."

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Where you heard the term. I'm interested."

Bakura thumped his elbows on the table and rested his chin between his hands. Marik winced at Bakura's manners but kept quiet because he wanted to hear Bakura's response before they jumped into a new argument.

Bakura only muttered, "Ryou."

"Your old host?"

Bakura nodded.

"What about him?"

"He liked to cook, and we shared a body for a long time."

"'Shared' that's funny."

"Whatever. I picked a few things up. Cooking and computers mostly."

Marik blinked at Bakura. "You know how to cook?"

"Kinda . . . I guess. Probably not as good as he was, though."

"And all this time you've never once made me dinner?"

"I've made dinner."

"Rice and chickpeas doesn't count. I mean something different."

"Why the hell would I make you dinner?"

Marik shrugged. "It'd be nice."

"Why the hell would I be nice?"

Marik leaned across the table. "Because I suck your dick, asshole, now get your elbows off the table. You're embarrassing me."

"I don't give two shits about what any of these stuffy pricks think of me. Elbows are staying on the table, and I'll cook you dinner after you start cooking me fancy dinners."

Marik snorted. "I don't know how to cook. Men weren't allowed to learn. Ishizu had to do all the cooking."

"Are you still underground?"

"You're a fucking asshole, Bakura."

"But am I not an asshole with a valid point?"

"Fine. I'll learn to cook, but tomorrow you're making dinner."

Bakura scratched the back of his head. "Hope you like cream puffs. Ryou made a lot of desserts."

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><p><strong>***I need to get Bakura's back on this. It's okay to be an asshole as long as you have a valid point. The "I can't do it because of my childhood" excuse is no excuse when you're an adult.***<strong>


	13. a surprise

*****This section and a few others allude to Trustshipping (at least I think that's the right name for it) because *shrug* I didn't even know the name of the Seto/Ishizu pairing so I had to look it up - The Shipper's List has got problems, man. Some of those pairings . . . wtf is wrong with our fandom.*****

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><p>Bakura stared at Marik who stood staring at his cell phone as if he'd found another universe hidden inside it. "Marik? What was that text you just got?"<p>

"She's pregnant."

"Who did you get pregnant?" Bakura screamed before he had a chance to think about what he said.

Marik looked up with a smirk. "You sound jealous, Bakura. Don't like the thought of me with someone else, do you?"

"I'm going to stab that smug look off of your face." Bakura clenched his hands into fists.

"_Ishizu_ is pregnant, idiot."

Bakura snorted. "I can't imagine her ever having sex. Think she had her clothes on the whole time? She just seems too righteous to ever be nude."

Marik winced. "Don't say it like that. It's gross."

Bakura smirked. "That's how women get pregnant, you know. Fucking men."

"If you don't stop, _you_ won't be fucking any men tonight because you'll be sleeping on the floor."

"Who's the father?"

Marik snickered. "She won't say. I think it's Kaiba."

They exchanged distasteful looks at each other as they tried not to think about it. Marik snapped his phone shut and grinned. "Bakura, I'm going to be an uncle."

"Yipee."

"Shut up. This is exciting."

"Maybe now she'll stop whining about me ruining her chance for nieces and nephews."

"I doubt it." Marik tugged at Bakura's shoulder. "Come on."

"What? Where are we going?"

"We have to go shopping."

"For what?"

"Baby stuff."

"It's a little early. I mean, it's going to take nine months before you see the little bastard."

Marik smacked Bakura's shoulder and scowled. "Don't call my niece or nephew a bastard, you bastard."

"Hmph, my parents were wed, making me legitimate. Unless Ishizu's also engaged . . ."

Marik pinched Bakura's ear, dragging him to the door. "We're shopping. Every time you say something facetious we're staying longer."

Bakura laughed, smacking Marik's hand but not very hard. "Let go, asshole."

"Fuck off."

Bakura jerked his ear free and smoothed his hair back into place. "Idiot, until she picks a nursery theme, everything you buy will be more or less useless. Get her maternity clothes instead."

Marik clenched his teeth for a moment. "Gods, I hate when you have a good idea. Okay, fine, but we have to buy something."


	14. tengo

Bakura shoved the crumpled up flier in Marik's hands, and then crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

Curious, Marik looked down. "Tengo lessons?"

"I'm bored," Bakura hissed. "There's a lot of skill involved with Tengo – skills useful for a thief like me."

Over the years 'bored' had become their code word for "I want to do something, but it's unbecoming to my callous image so I need an excuse." Marik used the ruse as often as Bakura did, so they never called each other out on it. Marik thought of their trips to Cairo and Bakura's fascination with the flamenco dancers they watched the year before when they went to Spain. He couldn't stop smiling when he thought about it.

"What?" Bakura snapped.

"Nothing," Marik spoke in a soft voice, still smiling.

"You have a look."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do." Bakura narrowed his eyebrows, trying to read Marik's expression. "You know what, forget it."

"No." Marik stood up with the paper in his hands. "I want to do it. It looks fun."

"Fun?" Bakura screwed his face up as if the word tasted of sour milk. "I just want to improve my dexterity."

Marik shrugged. "You do it for dexterity, then. I'll go for the fun of it."

Bakura exhaled. "Whatever."


	15. picnic at dawn

*****Aww, I like this one. Anyway, jusy a quick thanks to everyone who reviews and reads this.*****

Marik woke up to soft kisses against his throat. He moaned at the sensation, allowing his eyes to blink open until he felt awake. "Bakura?"

"Hmm?"

"When do you ever wake up before me?"

"Today."

Marik stretched and leaned his head back into the pillow.

Bakura poked at his ribs. "Get up."

Marik glanced out the window near their bed. "It's still dark outside."

"Yes, I know. That's the point." He gave Marik's throat a few more kisses before he crawled out of the bed.

Curiosity drove Marik to his feet. He tossed on some jeans and a old tank before he stumbled through their apartment in search of Bakura.

Bakura snuck behind him in the hallway, wrapping a silk blindfold over Marik's eyes. Marik froze and clawed the cloth out of his face.

"Bakura, I can't stand the dark!"

Bakura turned Marik around so that they faced each other. He held each side of Marik's face and pressed their foreheads together. "Yeah, should have thought that out better. I just wanted this to be a surprise."

Marik dropped the blindfold to the carpet and looked at Bakura. "What's a surprise?"

"Telling your ruins the surprise." He gestured with his head. "Forget the blindfold. Let's go."

"It's too early."

Bakura growled and grabbed Marik's hand, dragging him outside and to Marik's motorcycle.

"Where are we—"

Bakura spun around and pushed his lips over Marik's. Marik turned the kiss into several.

"Trust me," Bakura whispered.

That was the hardest thing for Marik to do – with anyone. He thought of all those years ago, on a blimp and fighting his alter ego. Marik sighed and climbed behind Bakura. By the time they stopped the sky was pale gray with the first streaks of yellow stretching out into the open horizon.

Marik looked around. "Okay . . . where are we?"

"Nowhere." Bakura shrugged. "Near the Valley of Kings, but essentially nowhere."

Marik exhaled towards the sky, trying not to snap at Bakura or call him an idiot. "Why are we here?"

"Because this used to be my favorite piece of nowhere to sit and think." He reached into the side bags on the bike and pulled out an old blanket, laying it on the dirt near their feet.

He also grabbed a knapsack and sat with his legs crossed, patting the spot next to him as he unpacked. He pulled out boiled eggs, cheese, grapes, bread, and kefir. The last thing he pulled out looked oddly like a smashed blackberry pie.

"Dammit," Bakura cursed when he saw the pie.

Marik sat beside Bakura, smiling. "Did you make that?"

Bakura frowned. "They were about to go off anyway."

"Bakura . . . did you just bring me on a picnic?"

"No," Bakura growled. "I was hungry, so I brought food."

Marik looked at the sky again. The first slice of true sunlight breaking over the desert. "You brought me out here to watch the sun rise."

"I couldn't sleep!" Bakura protested. "And I was bored."

"Stop it." Marik pushed him against the blanket. Their eyes met. "It's okay . . ." Marik paused. They'd both spent so many years dancing around their feelings that trying to organize the storm of thoughts ravaging Marik's brain at that moment was near impossible. "It's okay . . . to want this." He stared at Bakura another moment. "I want to do stuff like this, too."

"I smashed the pie."

Marik brushed his nose against Bakura's nose. "We'll just eat it out of the tin."


	16. ¡mas tequila!

Bakura stared at the shot glasses and lime wedges. "What was the order again?"

Marik checked his phone. "Exhale. Lick salt. Shoot tequila. Bite lime."

"Or we could just drink beer right out of the bottle without the magical ritual."

"Afraid?"

Bakura snorted and licked his hand to make the salt stick.

Marik grinned, prepping his own hand and holding the lime. His other hand held a brimming shot glass. "Okay. One. Two. Dammit Bakura!"

Bakura licked his hand and downed his shot the moment Marik said two. Marik followed right afterward, they both coughed as the liquor burned the back of their throats.

"How many shots until we stop tasting it?" Bakura winced.

Marik poured another round. "I don't know. Let's see if we can count that high."

By the sixth shot they were sprawled on the rug, singing at the top of their lungs.


	17. foreplay

Bakura lay on his back with his arms spread out on either side of him. Marik knelt at the foot of the bed, swirling Bakura's middle toe in his mouth. As if the textured feeling of Marik's tongue on Bakura's sensitive skin wasn't enough, his intense, lilac eyes never strayed from Bakura's face, and he couldn't help but shudder from the attention. More and more, they seemed to be experimenting with foreplay. Sex had come easy to them, grabbing what they wanted, biting want they wanted, moving quick and fierce against each other until they could move no more.

Foreplay was tricky. It prevented them from racing towards orgasm and falling asleep, instead they had to plan, be creative, read each other's reactions, though that's what made it appealing. However, it also felt dangerous. As Marik moved on to the next toe, Bakura felt unbound. The slow, tender affection had Bakura whispering things too sweet for his mouth to ever say. He whispered Marik's name, whispered that he wanted more, that he wanted Marik, that he wanted kisses trailed up his thighs. And he did want all those things – that was the worst of it – the longer he stayed alive, the further they moved away from the days of Dark Games, and the more they replaced those memories with nights on the couch watching television, the more Bakura wanted to drop his guard, to be gentle.

Marik listened to his pleas, creeping up Bakura's thighs with soft kisses and teasing licks. Bakura gasped. He held his breath, as if he'd miss something otherwise.

"What to you want me to do now?" Marik muttered into Bakura's thigh.

Bakura tugged at Marik's arms in order to pull him up so that they lay face to face. He hid in Marik's shoulder, unable to look at him.

It was so easy to fight, so easy to hate, but so difficult to speak.

"I want you to . . ."

The words died. As much as he wanted to say them, he couldn't. Not yet. Not yet.

Marik kissed his forehead, where his third eye would rest. He looked at Bakura. "Okay. I will."


	18. due date

"Hurry up!" Marik screamed. "Rishid said she went into labor ten minutes ago. We need to go now!"

"Marik, all we're going to do is stand in the waiting room. There's no point in rushing."

"No arguing! Let's go!"

Bakura grabbed Marik by the shoulder to calm him down - he had put on his shirt inside out. "Marik. She'll be fine. She's not underground with a midwife. She's in a hospital. With doctors. Calm down, and put your shirt on correctly."

Marik stared down at his shirt and then grabbed Bakura in a frantic, too-tight embrace. "I don't want anything to go wrong."

Bakura returned the hug, holding Marik as tight as his arms allowed. "Nothing will go wrong."

"I know, but—"

"Nothing will go wrong." Bakura pressed his face into the crown of Marik's head. "And I'm right here."

Marik sighed into Bakura's chest. They broke apart and Marik flipped his shirt right side in. "Better?"

"Yeah." Bakura stole the keys out of Marik's hand. "I think I'll drive the bike. C'mon, let's go meet this kid you've been buying so much stuff for during the last nine months."

* * *

><p><strong>***It could be worse, Marik. *My* little sister is going to give birth at St. Mary's in a few months. When I was in college everyone called it "St. Murders" and I don't think the nick name has gone away over the years. Thankfully, her doctor seems competent.*** <strong>


	19. a dance in the kitchen

They'd taken enough tango lessons to get the hang of the moves, but eventually quit because they got bored with the structure of class learning; however, they hadn't quit practicing. Music changed their kitchen into their personal dance studio. They wore loose cloth slacks, their feet and chests bare.

From opposite ends of the kitchen, they stepped towards each other, each step accenting a beat. When the drew together, Bakura turned away. His hair flicked out like a horse's mane during a gallop. Marik caught Bakura's wrist and pulled him close. Bakura spun into Marik's copper chest as Marik used his left hand to hold Bakura's cheek for a moment before Bakura pulled away again. They circled around the kitchen, their feet never straying from the syncopation of the music.

Marik played aggressor, moving close. Bakura moved away, but then stopped so he could be "caught". They stood together in a closed position. Step-step-step-step and a pause so Bakura could hook his right leg behind Marik's calves, then out, and then back around Marik.

When they started, they thought they'd argue over who would lead, but Marik always lead because Bakura loved performing the ganchos and spins. He said leading bored him.

Neither spoke, it was one of the few times they never argued. How could you fight when the music demanded every thread of your body and thoughts? It'd be a wasted moment.

Marik dipped Bakura as the music ended. They both panted for breath, droplets of sweat dancing down their chests. Their gazes held together and they were still silent. Marik didn't pull Bakura back up for the next song; instead, he lowered him to the cool floor and kissed him.

They made love like they danced; silent, sweating, panting, in a closed position, and with Bakura's legs hooked around Marik.


	20. rpg's

"No, you can't do that yet," Bakura said.

"Why not?" Marik asked.

"You have to roll first."

"Gods, you have to throw a dice before you take a shit in this game."

Bakura snickered, then muttered, "fortitude check, I suppose."

"This isn't really a game you can play with two people."

Bakura growled. "I know, but I hate people, so I don't want anyone else to play."

"Let's just play Duel Monsters."

Bakura laid back on the carpet and stared at the ceiling. "Okay."

Marik lay on his stomach next to Bakura. "You know, you should just email Ryou. Didn't he like that game as much as you did?"

"Why not? I'll just send him a quick email. Hey, what's up? I've been back for about five years now. Sorry I didn't tell you but I was busy. How's life? Remember when I stabbed you when we played that one game? Let's play that game again."

"Well, you shouldn't have been such an ass back then."

Bakura lulled his eyes over to Marik and then back towards the ceiling. "If only I'd been as nice as you back in those days."

Marik rolled to his side so he could peck a defiant kiss on Bakura's temple. "Email him anyway. I'll go find our cards."

Bakura took the little Marik doll he'd painted for their game and smiled at it. Since Marik was in the other room and couldn't see Bakura, he kissed the doll before setting it back on the small diorama. Bakura looked at his laptop, already turned on to calculate stats and die rolls, and brought up his email.


	21. sleeping in

The lamp near their bed looked dim compared to the sunlight slanting into their bedroom window. They slept naked, their bare feet poking out of the sheets. While they slept, they curled against each other, Marik the little spoon.

He rolled to his other side in order to face Bakura. "Morning."

Bakura made a sound that was supposed to sound like 'good morning', but sounded more like a grumble.

"We slept through the alarm."

Bakura popped one eye open to look at Marik. "Good."

A sly look decorated Marik's face. "Too late to be productive, right?"

Bakura opened the other eye. His bed-ravaged hair tossed around his face. "So we should just stay in bed for another hour, right?"

"Yes."

A little purr escaped Bakura's throat as he sank deeper into his pillow. "I love it when you talk lazy to me, Marik Ishtar."

Marik rolled Bakura on his back, staring down at him as if Bakura were breakfast in bed. "I said stay in bed, I didn't say we'd sleep."

Bakura smirked. "Hmmm, if I wear you out enough, we could go back to sleep for more than an hour."

"You're welcome to try." Marik kissed down Bakura's throat and to his chest.

Bakura flipped them so that he sat straddled on top of Marik. "I do enjoy a challenge."


	22. coconut curry

Bakura leaned over Marik's shoulder. "Lemme taste."

"No, get out of my kitchen."

"By what right is it _your_ kitchen?"

"I'm the one cooking, so it's my kitchen." He smirked. "Don't worry. When it's time to wash the dishes, it can be your kitchen."

"Like hell."

"I'm cooking, it's only fair."

"Then I'll help you cook." Bakura grabbed a bulb of garlic and started separating the cloves.

"You still have to help with dishes."

"Then you have to serve dessert."

"Your innuendos will not save you from dish duty." Marik glanced over his shoulder. "The recipe said two cloves."

"Sure it did, so we're using nine."

"That's too much."

"Trust me, it's not. The only reason I'm not using a whole bulb is because I'm too lazy to peel it all."

"No, you have to follow the recipe, Bakura."

"No, _you_ have to follow the recipe. I already know what I'm doing."

Marik glared at him. "Get out of my kitchen."

* * *

><p><strong>***No, seriously, when a recipe says 1-2 cloves of garlic, they mean half a bulb at least! An entire bulb if you feel like chopping that much garlic.***<strong>


	23. ice cubes

Marik leaned against the wall holding his hair above his neck. "Sometimes I hate living in a desert."

Bakura snorted. "At least we have electricity now. Neither one of us did as children."

"True, but even with the air on it's hot as fuck today."

"It's too hot to even fuck today."

"Let's move to Sweden."

Bakura huffed a single laugh out of his mouth as he walked to the kitchen and rummaged through the icebox. "Believe me, I'd love to, but we both know you're not going to move more than 30 minutes away from Ishizu and Bastet."

Marik groaned. "Yeah . . ."

He jumped when Bakura slipped an ice-cube down his back. Marik squirmed until the offending chunk of ice dropped to the carpet. "The fuck, Bakura?"

"What? You were hot." Bakura popped a different chunk of ice in his mouth. He had a cup full of ice cubes in his hands and a wicked smirk on his face.

"You bastard." Marik lunged for Bakura.

They wrestled a bit, and Bakura managed to slip another ice-cube down Marik's shirt – this time the front – before Marik wrenched a cube out of Bakura's cup. He pinned Bakura to the floor and forced the ice-cube into Bakura's pants.

"Ah! Ahh! Dammit!" Bakura laughed and screamed as he bucked and wiggled to move the ice, but Marik had his hand pressed over Bakura's crotch to keep the ice where he wanted it.

Turned out, it wasn't too hot for sex after all.


	24. negotiations

"Ten blow jobs," Bakura said.

"Screw you. We always do one b.j."

"Yes, but I _really_ don't want to go today, so at least five."

"I'll give you two."

Bakura shook his head. "Four. I'm being generous with that offer."

Marik ground his teeth. "Three – take it or sleep on the couch tonight."

"Ha, like you'd let me sleep on your precious, silk couch."

"You're right – I meant the floor."

"Not helping your argument, Marik."

"Quit being a dick."

"Last time she threw up on me."

"That's what babies do. Besides, Rishid will be over this time, so you won't have to hold her if you don't want to."

Bakura pursed his lips. "It would be funny to watch her throw up on baldy. Okay, three."


	25. ustacould

They sat on the couch, talking more than watching t.v. Bakura leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "I used to be able to drink beer all day long and hardly get buzzed, but the stuff they brew now gives me a headache if I drink too much of it."

"I used to be able to write hieratic without thinking about it, but since I don't use it anymore, I'd have to actually translate it in my head to write it now."

"I do that when I try to think in Middle Egyptian. Modern words keep slipping into my thoughts now."

"Why don't you speak it out loud?"

Bakura shrugged. "It's a dead language. Kinda goes well with my dead village."

Marik turned off the television. "Do you miss them?"

Bakura's face was alabaster, still and white. After a long silence he answered, "yeah."

"You know . . ." Marik paused, debating if he should say the rest. "Rishid and Ishizu . . . they think you're family . . ." he looked at Bakura. "You're my family . . ."

Bakura looked snake-bit, pale and fevered. He hesitated, but eventually rested his head on Marik's shoulder. ". . . I know."


	26. care package

"What's that?" Marik asked.

"A box."

"Amazing," Marik said with an ironic tone. "What's _in_ the box?"

"Stuff Ryou sent from Japan." Bakura opened the box with his switch blade.

Marik peeked inside. "This is almost all junk food."

Bakura ripped open a box of pocky and stuck one in his mouth. "_You_ try living in his head as long as I did and see if you don't miss cupped ramen and everything filled with red bean paste."

"If you get fat, I'll laugh at you."

"You'd fuck me anyway."

"What makes you so sure?"

Bakura waved Marik off with a brush of his hand. "You love this ass at any size."

Marik grinned. "You know, that could be taken more than one way."

"Take it any way you like."

Marik knelt on the floor. "So are you going to share?"

Bakura stuck another stick of pocky in his mouth and leaned back. Marik crawled towards him and bit the other half.


	27. dirty talk

"Harder! Marik!" Bakura already finished, but that never stopped him from giving commands in bed.

"Do _what_ harder," Marik growled in Bakura's ear.

"Fuck me!"

Marik grabbed Bakura's hair and pushed deeper. "Like this?"

"More!"

Marik lifted Bakura's ass higher, holding the position by resting Bakura's ankles over Marik's shoulders. "_How! 'Bout! This!"_

"Yes! Gods yes! Ah! Ah! Fuck!"

"Bakura! I'm gonna . . . cum!"


	28. pillow talk

Afterward they lay in the crook of each other's arms. Marik laid on Bakura's chest. "Guess you have a heart after all. I can hear it pounding in your chest."

"It only seems to ever work when you're nearby."

Marik smiled, his face washed in a drowsy glow. "Don't worry, I'll never tell anyone that it works at all. We can't ruin your reputation."

Bakura toyed with Marik's hair.

Marik looked up. "You know what's nice?"

"Yeah," Bakura said with a straight voice, "rim jobs."

They both started laughing. His tone had been so serious that Marik had expected something altogether different.

"You know what else is nice?"

"What?"

"I can say anything to you and you never get butt hurt about it. I call you an asshole and you tell me to shut the fuck up. I threaten to kick you out of the house and you shove your hand down your pants and start pleasuring yourself – that was fucking _hot_ by the way."

Bakura grinned. "We've had a lot of fights, but I think that one was my favorite. I'm not even sure when the argument sex ended and the make-up sex began."

"What were we fighting about?"

"Uh . . Duel Monsters?"

"No we weren't."

"Pretty sure that's what got it started. It was about a subscript."

"We wouldn't get into an argument about something _that_ dumb."

"Yes we would. We do. All the time."

Marik stopped himself from retorting. ". . . okay. Maybe we do."

"Y'know, Marik, your mouth is pretty when it's admitting that maybe I was right."

"Yeah? Your mouth is pretty when it's saying my name."

"Marik," Bakura whispered.

Marik looked up, surprised that Bakura said it.

When Bakura noticed Marik looking at him, he said it again. "Marik."

"Bakura."

"Marik."

Marik slide up a few inches so he could reach Bakura's mouth. "Bakura," he said in between kisses.

"Marik."


	29. a bedtime story for Bastet

*****This one is another of my personal favorites. I guess I'm a sap.*****

* * *

><p>Ishizu fell asleep in her chair while Marik played with the baby. Ishizu had mentioned not getting a full night's sleep since her second trimester, and Bastet was already seven months old.<p>

Marik rocked the baby to sleep and handed her to Bakura. "Here. Put her in her crib while I find a blanket to cover Ishizu."

Bakura shot Marik a disapproving scowl, but didn't risk waking either female by speaking. He took Bastet to her room. Seeing Bastet's nursery always made Bakura's chest feel tight. Ishizu painted the walls sky blue with white sponging in areas to look like clouds. Bakura himself painted a tree in the corner (after proper bribing from Marik). Glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling and Bastet's mobile had suns and moons along with her crib-sheets. It reminded Bakura that Marik and his siblings spent years underground, and now they were trying to give the outside world they never had to one, little baby.

Bakura set Bastet in her crib. She stayed asleep. He leaned over and looked at her. She had Ishizu's black hair and Marik's vibrant eyes, but her nose and stubborn jaw were undeniably Seto Kaiba's.

Bakura smirked as he realized he was probably looking at the most obstinate child in the world, a dangerous blend of Kaiba and Ishtar genetics. She cooed in her sleep, but didn't cry.

Bakura leaned against the crib railing. "You know, once there was this thief who didn't have anybody and he grew up really pissed off. He tried to shove his foot right up the Pharaoh's ass but . . ."

Bakura shrugged. "Well, it didn't quite work the way he planned. Wasn't all bad, though, because he met this other guy who was just as angry, and they ended up getting along rather well. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're never going to have to worry about getting locked underground, or used as a sheet of paper, or having your home burned down. Nothing bad will happen to you – you'll skin your knees and your first goldfish will die, but nothing truly bad will happen to you or your mom ever because people thought I went ape-shit over my dead family members, but they haven't even _seen_ the lengths I'd go through for living family. When me and Marik have a common goal you pretty much have to be the Holy Winged Dragon of Ra in order to stop us so . . . yeah, no one will ever mess with you."

He turned to leave before Marik wondered where he was; unfortunately, Marik already stood in the doorway.

"Goddammit," Bakura hissed when he saw Marik.

Marik held a blanket with one hand and wiped at his eyes with the other hand. When Bakura walked up to him, Marik kissed Bakura on the mouth and held him. "Bakura, I . . . love you."

It was still too soon to say it back, so Bakura pressed his lips as gentle and deliberate as he could against Marik's jugular, as if that action could carry his emotions to Marik's heart without repeating the words.

Marik grabbed Bakura's hand and led him back to the living room. When they got there, Ishizu stood waiting for them.

She held each side of Bakura's face and kissed his right temple. "Idiot, the baby monitor is on."

Bakura blinked for a second and looked at the little speaker near Ishizu's chair. "Oh goddammit."


	30. snack

Bakura sat on the sofa and dipped his spoon into the thick, white, honey-flavored, Greek-style yogurt.

Marik stood in front of Bakura with his hands on his hips. "Is that the last one?"

"Yup." Bakura shoved the spoon into his mouth and purred and _mmmm_ of approval.

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to share?"

Bakura pulled the spoon out of his mouth. "Maybe."

He loaded another spoonful of yogurt and held it out to Marik. Marik leaned in to take a bite, but Bakura pulled the prize away until Marik's lips were in kissing distance. After he stole a kiss, he let Marik eat the yogurt from his spoon.

Marik sat beside Bakura and they passed the spoon back and forth until the container sat empty on the floor and they sat on the couch, trying to suck the last tastes of honey off of each other's lips.


	31. snap shot

Marik snuck up behind Bakura, hooked his arm around Bakura's shoulders, and snapped a photo of them.

"What the hell, Marik?"

"Ishizu wants photos."

"Too bad. I don't like pictures."

"Too bad. She used the big sister voice. I have no choice but to provide her with a few pictures."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Okay, but only if—"

"If you say ten blow jobs I will scream."

Bakura smirked. "Eleven blow jobs."

"Dammit, Bakura."

Bakura laughed. "Actually, I was going to say that I'd take some pictures with you to give to your sister, as long as you didn't mind taking some with me for my own collection."

"Oh." Marik grinned as he thought of the kinds of pictures Bakura would want to keep of the two of them. "I think we can arrange that."

* * *

><p><strong>***I'm so tired. People with social anxiety shouldn't have to host baby showers.***<strong>


	32. sharing a mirror

They stood side by side as they brushed their teeth and applied Kohl to their eyes. Marik shaved, but Bakura never had to.

"You're sexy in the morning." Marik bumped his hip into Bakura's as they worked on their hair.

"Fuck you," Bakura swore as he battled the tangles in his mop of white locks. He hated waking up, hated getting out of bed more so.

Marik turned so he could stare at Bakura and not Bakura's reflection. "No, I mean it. You're sexy as hell when your hair is bed-ravaged. Makes me want to drag you back to our room."

Bakura set the brush down and teased his hair. "Okay."

"Nice try, Bakura, but we still have to go to Rishid's to watch the game."

"Dammit." Bakura picked the brush back up and fought with his hair again. "At least baldly has good taste in beer."


	33. another vacation

"Bakura?"

"Yes, Marik?"

"Why are there suitcases on the bed?"

"So we can pack our clothes into them."

". . . why?"

Bakura gave Marik his trademark smirk. "Because we haven't been on vacation in a while."

"Yeah? And where are we going?"

"London."

"Bakura?"

"Yes Marik?"

"Are we stealing the Crown Jewels?"

"Yes. Yes we are."

"Are we going to give them back again?"

"Going soft on me, Marik? You sound awfully do-goody right now."

"You like to forget that I'm technically reformed."

"There's a lot of subtext added to 'technically'."

"You never answered my question."

Bakura shrugged. "Yes. We'll give them back – after we play with them for a bit."

It was Marik's turn to smirk. "Does 'play' also carry a lot of subtext?"


	34. coffee

Bakura sat at the kitchen table with his chin propped up with a hand. He sipped coffee from a black, ceramic mug. "Eight more cups and I should be functional."

Marik drank tea instead of coffee. "No you don't. Last time you drank more than one pot, I had to put up with you – very hyper. You should never be hyper; it isn't natural."

"Whatever, Ishtar. You love putting up with me."

"Then you crashed and slept all afternoon."

"What else is an afternoon for?"

"Why can't you just have a normal sleep schedule?"

"Because one robs tombs in the middle of the night and then sleeps when it's hot. You're the one doing it wrong."

"Shut up and drink your coffee. It's too early in the morning to deal with you."


	35. one more chapter

Marik sat curled on the sofa. He chewed on his thumb nail, a book shoved up to his face.

Bakura turned off the t.v. "I'm ready for bed."

"Okay."

He raised a white eyebrow at Marik. "You coming?"

"Sure. Yeah. Soon as I'm done with this chapter."

"Last time you said that, you didn't come to bed until 4:00 a.m."

"That was a really good book."

"And this one?"

Marik nodded, only paying half his attention to his lover. "Yeah, it's also good. Why? You want to read it next?"

Bakura didn't answer. He grabbed the throw and rested his head in Marik's lap.

Marik smiled down at him. "Bakura, what are you doing?"

"Going to sleep."

"You can go to the bedroom."

Bakura drew hexagrams on Marik's stomach. "I . . . can't sleep if you're not in bed."

"Oh." Marik's expression changed from indifferent to endearing. "I suppose you can lay in my lap then."

Bakura snorted. "Good to have your permission because I had no intentions of getting up."


	36. porn

*****lol, does this make them Thiefshippers as well? I say it does!*****

"Marik, just pick one already."

"I need to find one that's interesting."

"It's porn. None of them are interesting."

"Then why are we watching it?"

"Because."

"That's some amazing logic, Bakura."

"Whatever. You know you like getting sucked off with other dudes moaning in the background."

Marik gave Bakura an unapologetic smile. "We should just film ourselves. We do a better job than all those assholes online."

"Pun not intended, surely." Bakura stopped and looked at Marik. "Actually, we do have a video camera."

Marik arched his eyebrows. "You want to?"

Bakura grinned. "Might be hot – to watch ourselves later."

Marik turned off the computer. "Go make the bed. I'll look for the recorder."


	37. yoga

"Practicing for tonight?" Bakura asked.

"I'm in Downward Dog Pose. I thought it'd be good for me to practice yoga. You know, mind body health and all that crap."

"Looks like it should be called Fuck Me Like A Dog Pose."

"Shut-up, Bakura. I'm searching for zen."

"Yes, so am I. I believe it's in the freezer."

Marik lowered himself to a plank, hovered near the floor, and then stretched up into Cobra. "The freezer, and here I thought it'd be in the mind."

Bakura walked around Marik to get to the kitchen. "Definitely in the freezer. I call it Death By Chocolate."

"You're an asshole, Bakura . . . bring two spoons!"


	38. one secret desire each

Bakura sat on the bed one night and picked at his nails with his switch blade. The only time he ever did so was when he wanted to talk about something he'd been thinking about, but wanted a distraction so he didn't have to look Marik in the face.

"What's up?" Marik sat on the opposite end of the bed, grabbing a book and pretending to browse it to help Bakura feel more comfortable.

"You want to try something different?"

"In bed?" Marik put down the book and turned on his side, propping his head up with his hand and staring at Bakura's back. "Sounds fun. What did you have in mind?"

"Um . . ." Bakura set down his knife, glancing over his shoulder at Marik. "We each pick one thing – something you always thought would be fun to try but _never_ wanted to bring up, and then we do them."

"So," Marik thought about some of the items on his mental kink list that he wouldn't mind trying. "Not something we'd probably get into anyway like bondage, but rather something we'd normally be too embarrassed to even _mention_ out loud?"

Bakura turned back to his knife. "Yes."

The laugh from Marik's mouth was almost a giggle, and his face was almost giddy. "Okay."

***** *cough, cough* Uh . . . I apologize for the next two sections in advance . . . sorry . . . so very sorry . . .*****


	39. ooo-la-la

"How'd I let you talk me into this?"

Marik admired Bakura. He'd seen Bakura flushed plenty of times in bed, but the color burning his cheeks at the moment was a pure, self conscious, insecure blush, and it looked good on him. "You wanted to do something different."

"You just chose this to unnerve me."

Marik nodded. "True, but I have to admit . . that outfit looks good on you. Really good."

"Fuck off." Bakura tugged at the ass-length French Maid outfit.

He'd acted indifferent the day the package came and Marik pulled the ruffled dress and nylon stockings from it; however, now that he wore it, with matching, black heels, he couldn't stop tugging at it to make it cover more of his garter clad thighs.

"No, I'm serious," Marik said. "I'm enjoying this more than I probably should be."

"Whatever. Hurry-up and fuck me so I can get out of this thing."

"Why rush? You like to role play, so let's role play."

Bakura glared at Marik. "LARPing is stupid. If you want me to role play, I need dice and a table."

Marik shrugged. "You said we each get to pick one fetish that we wanted to try, but never wanted to bring up. Well, I want to roleplay and how well you play along determines how well I play along when it's your turn to pick something for us to do."

Bakura groaned. "Okay. Okay, I'll fucking role play, but I'm pretending to be an Argonian maid named Lifts Her Tail the entire time."

Marik didn't respond. He had no idea what an Argonian was, and besides, he was too busy staring at Bakura's pearl-white legs hiding behind nude-colored nylon and black garters.

Bakura played along better than Marik thought he would, dusting and picking loose clothes up off of the floor. To Marik's disbelief, he played the role of a demure servant with incredible immersion into the character. He even curtsied and called Marik "sir" when he walked by. Marik never gave him a chance to make the bed.

*****Mother of Talos, I really want to write The Lusty Argonian Maid as a complete, cheesy romance fanfic. I'd have Lifts Her Tail go femme fatale and murder all the guys sleeping with her and have her abscond with a Khajiit prostitute (or something utterly ridiculous). Don't worry, I'm far too lazy to actually write it, but still . . . [and only the Elder Scrolls fans have any idea what I'm even talking about].*****


	40. hotel room of three

*****after Marik's pick, Bakura seems a little boring.*****

Marik almost felt sorry for the boy – he was roughly their age, mid twenties, but Marik thought of him as a boy because of the candid expression he wore. A thick mess of black curls crowned his head and he had hazel eyes and wash board abs. They'd picked him up at the club earlier that night, and now he laid bare on the hotel bed, waiting for them.

Marik stalked him from the left, Bakura from the right. They looked like two hungry lions, one gold, the other ivory. This had been Bakura's choice, and he'd played maid so well for Marik, that Marik had no choice but to go at this with gusto.

They had three cameras – each at a different angle so they could edit later. The cameras were both of their idea, not part of the original fantasy, but hey, why not? They were probably only going to ever do this once, might as well have a memento.

Bakura's and Marik's eyes caught and they smirked. It felt like when they plotted in Battle City, only more fun. No enemies, no battles, just pillows, and a soft mattress, and laughter.

The boy giggled as they descended on him, meeting their mouths with his own. He mewled pretty little noises when Marik started grazing his nails across the boy's soft, brown skin.

When it was over, they left the hotel room with the third male still passed out in bed from a blend of exhaustion and satisfaction. He wore a content smile on his face, like a male, Egyptian rendition of Flaming June.


	41. anniversary

They ate Kushari at their kitchen table. Marik looked up from his plate. "Do you realize it's been _ten years_?"

Bakura met Marik's glance. "No it hasn't."

"Yes it has. Ten years this month."

"You're counting Battle City. That doesn't count. It's been less than nine years."

"Battle City counts."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does. We were practically married back then."

"We're technically not even married now."

Marik stared at Bakura. He shrugged and grinned, sneaking in a bite of food as he did it.

"It counts," Marik said.

"Dammit, Marik, me stabbing myself at the pier was _not_ our first date."


	42. a single moment

Sweat beaded against the dark glass of the two beer bottles. The radio in the living room sounded far off, but pleasant. Their fingers took turns snaking Dominoes across the table.

They spoke of nothing in particular.

It was one of those rare, hot nights where they felt content to sit in the kitchen with a box fan and some beer, playing a game and forgetting to argue.


	43. Bakura's dream

*****This one is based on a dream I had where I wouldn't stop hugging my mom because I knew as soon as I woke up that I wouldn't be able to hug her anymore.*****

* * *

><p>Bakura sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Marik stumbled into the kitchen rubbing sand out of his lilac eyes. "Okay, it's early and you look contemplative, what's up?"<p>

"I had a dream and couldn't go back to sleep."

"A nightmare?"

"No, a dream."

Marik sat down and looked at Bakura. "What happened?"

"I saw my mother. We talked."

"Did she tell you to brush your hair?"

"She teased me because my skin is white. I kept telling her that _they_ did it. I knew who _they_ were in the dream, but not anymore." Bakura set his cup on the table.

"Anything else? Perhaps which world-famous treasure we should rob next?"

"She said—" Bakura folded in on himself, tucking his knees into his chest as he sat on the narrow, kitchen chair. His sobs sounded like rust in his lungs, as if something corroded stuck into place for too long finally broke free. "She said she was okay."

Marik rushed over to Bakura's side of the table, dropping his knees on the cold, kitchen floor in order to rest his hands on top of Bakura's. The tears lasted for fifteen seconds then stopped again as quick as they came, and Bakura sat in his seat and tried to control his breathing to ensure new tears didn't come.

They both suffered from nightmares from time to time. When it happened, one would hold the other until their minds were calm again. This was a little different. Marik stoked the soft skin on Bakura's hand. "Ishizu says that spirits can visit us in our dreams."

Bakura sniffed. "Not sure if I believe that or not."

"Well." Marik shrugged. "If dark gods are real, and the Shadow Realm is real, and spirits can stay in cursed relics for three thousand years only to appear in different bodies again without explanation . . . then why not believe in strange things?"


	44. mopping the floor

Marik smirked as he watched Bakura. Bakura didn't know that Marik watched him. Joe Arroyo sang _La Noche_ on Bakura's lap top on the counter. Bakura was mopping the floor . . . or something to that effect. Really, he was dancing with the mop. His hips never missed a beat as he worked his way back, sliding to one area to mop and dancing his way across a section of floor before sliding to a new area.

He spun at the song's end, noticing Marik and dropping the mop.

Marik threw his head back to laugh.

Bakura pointed behind Marik. "Fuck you, Ishtar! Out of my kitchen!"

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Your kitchen?"

"When I mop it's mine. Out!" He marched towards Marik, hands balled into fists.

Marik backed away with slow steps. "But you look like a sex-god when you mop."

Bakura grabbed Marik's shoulders in order to turn him in the opposite direction, slapping Marik's ass as he sent him away from the kitchen.


	45. it would happen at least once

Marik rode Bakura. The overhead light caught each drop of sweat and transformed them into chips of amber sliding down Marik's garam masala colored skin. Bakura watched Marik's serpentine movements, moaning in ecstasy as Marik writhed above him.

The gold adorning Marik's arms and throat flashed in the light as well. Bakura noticed a glimmer as one of Marik's earrings broke free and arched down onto Bakura's face. He closed his eyes just as he felt the weight of the earring land on top of his lid.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Marik covered his mouth, mostly to mute his laughter.

"What the fuck, Marik?" Bakura pulled the earring away from his face.

"I'm sorry!" Marik laughed harder, hard enough to have to stop moving his hips because his abs shook too hard.

But they were used to setbacks and it never could stop either one of them from striving towards their goal.


	46. star gazing

Bakura's favorite spot of nowhere became one of their favorite haunts. Their blanket stretched across the sand and the stars stretched above their heads. The breeze blew warm over their skin, but the day's heat was fading into the hills. Marik leaned back in Bakura's arms as they star gazed.

"I never thought I'd see them. The stars."

"I spent my whole life under them and never enjoyed them."

"But here we are now."

"Here we are," Bakura echoed.

"You can't see this many when we're at home because of the city lights."

"That's one of the things I hate about living now rather than before. The air tastes bad. The water tastes bad. There's too many people."

Marik shifted until he sat in Bakura's lap and faced him. "Maybe the air tastes bad, but what about this?" Marik leaned in and sucked on Bakura's bottom lip, waiting for Bakura to open his mouth so Marik could deepen the kiss.


	47. baby sitting (part 1)

Ishizu walked in with a small suitcase in one hand and Bastet holding her other hand. She pecked Marik on the cheek. "Thanks again for watching her while I go on this business trip."

Bakura snickered, looking up from his place on the couch. "Business trip? Is that what they call a conjugal visit these days?"

"Promise not to teach her any colorful new words this week, Bakura."

"Only if you promise not to come back pregnant."

Bastet's violet eyes grew into two, huge planets. "I want a little brother! Please mommy, get pregnant in New York, okay?"

Ishizu shot Bakura an angry glance.

He smiled at her.

Bastet ran to him and jumped in his lap, making Bakura wince as she kneed him in the stomach.

"Kura!" She strangled him by wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ishizu had done everything in her power to make it "Uncle Bakura," but he'd won that argument, so the child had Uncle Marik, Uncle Rishid, and Kura. For some reason Bastet refused to add the "Ba" to his name, but he put up with it as long as it wasn't "Uncle Kura" – although Marik was starting to pick up the "Kura" nickname and that was a royal pain in Bakura's ass.

Marik waved. "I'll be right back, you two. Bastet, keep Kura out of trouble while I take your mom to the airport."

"Okay." She waved and blew them kisses. When they left, the excitable six-year-old turned towards Bakura. "Let's play salon."

Bakura was not fond of that game. It involved pink nail polish that smelled awful, and a pink lip gloss that looked horrid on his complexion and tasted like plastic. "Let's play Nintendo."

"No, Kura, beauty salon," she said it as it were the most obvious thing in the world and Bakura was an imbecile for not knowing otherwise.

Bakura rolled his eyes and sighed, conceding. It wasn't as fun arguing with the female Ishtars. He liked to save his fights for Marik if he could help it. Bakura sat on the floor so Bastet could yank at his hair with a toy hair brush.


	48. baby sitting (part 2)

Ishizu stood and rubbed her temples. Bakura knew that meant she was raving pissed at them, but wouldn't lose her temper in front of Bastet. "Bakura, why did you think it was okay to buy her a kitten?"

Bakura couldn't help the grin. He knew it made him look like an asshole – and he was an asshole, but he wasn't trying to be a jerk, it was just his natural state of being. "Because her name is Bastet. Why on earth would you name her Bastet if you didn't want her to have a kitten?"

He could use Marik's help. It _was_ both their idea to buy the kitten, but Marik stood with his hands behind his back and his eyes hard-lined to the floor.

"I named her Mau," Bastet said as if that justified everything. At least _she_ had Bakura's back in this argument.

"That's great, sweetie." Ishizu grinned, but as soon as she turned her head back to Bakura, that legendary Ishtar temper flared in her eyes. "You need to consult me before you make big decisions like this."

"No mommy, Mau is very small."

The worst of that quip was the honest-to-gods candid tone in her voice. The child truly thought she was presenting a logical and valid argument for her keeping the cat (yes, obviously Seto's child. Ishtars didn't do so well with logic). Problem was, Bakura was kinda thinking the same thing, only much more sarcastically, and when Bastet pulled the words out of his head, the added irony of her sincerity gave Bakura no other choice to to burst into a fit of laughter.

"I'm glad you think this is funny Bakura," Ishizu said, "because I'm allergic to cats."

"You are?" Marik looked up.

"Bullshit," Bakura cursed in Middle Egyptian. He used to use Japanese, but they started teaching that to her as well, so he had to get creative.

"Language, Bakura," Ishizu hissed in Egyptian Arabic.

Sometimes he forgot they spoke the older dialects because of their crazy upbringing. Bakura frowned. "Are you seriously allergic?"

"I tried to get a house cat as soon as I left the tomb, but after a day I couldn't stop sneezing."

"Well, crap." Bakura crossed his arms over his chest in thought, thankful that Ishizu didn't scold him for his language again because crap was as censored as he'd get.

Ishizu couldn't take the cat home because she was allergic, but that made her look like the bad guy for something that wasn't her fault since they didn't ask her first. Oh well, what was he for if not for playing the villain? This would be easy, right? Breaking the heart of an innocent child? Easy. Just like making Ryou cry, easy peasy. Bakura gave no fucks!

Bakura crouched down so he could look Bastet in the eye.

She started crying before he said a word. She already knew what was next.

Bakura realized he needed to go on Skype and apologize to Ryou for everything he ever did to his old host. The stabbings, the soul collection, intentionally squeezing the toothpaste from the center just because he knew Ryou hated it, everything he'd ever done, because it was suddenly less funny than it'd been at the time.

"Look." Bakura rested a hand on her pitch-black hair. "It's not that you can't keep Mau, it's that she has to stay here and live with me and Uncle Marik."

He had lost his touch at villainy. He supposed a decade of cuddling on the sofa with Marik as they watched stand up and split pints of ice-cream could do that to even the most vile of souls.

Bastet blinked away most of her tears. "So, you'll take care of her?"

Bakura nodded.

"And I can visit?"

She visited just about once a week, but Bastet happened to be the one person Bakura would swallow a sardonic comment for. "Of course."

Bastet accepted the compromise with all the grace and dignity a six-year-old without a kitten could muster. After they left, Ishizu stared at Bakura with an unspoken rush of gratitude, and Bakura couldn't do anything but stand there with a small, black kitten in his arms.

Once they left, Marik stared at him, hands on his hips. "Okay."

Bakura opened his mouth to argue, and it was going to be a spectacular fight after watching a child for a week and then having to deal with an irate Ishizu.

Marik cut him off. "Before you scream your counter argument, I just want you to know that I think you've finally earned those ten consecutive blow jobs you're always trying to get."


	49. 7 out of 10

They sat on the couch watching t.v., which meant Bakura watched t.v. while Marik read another book. Bakura felt his eyes closing. He knew he should go to sleep, but also knew Marik wouldn't budge off the couch until he finished his chapter, so Bakura allowed his eyes to drift shut as he leaned on Marik's shoulder.

Marik leaned over until his mouth was next to Bakura's ear, breath hot and voice sultry. "What number are we on?"

Bakura's eyes shot open, a sudden wakefulness overcoming him. "I think we're on seven."

"Seven," Marik said as if mulling the number over in his mind. "All right."

He swung himself down to the carpet, kneeling in front of Bakura and smirking. Bakura swallowed, his heart rate quickening before Marik even touched him. Marik leaned against Bakura's left thigh, tracing patterns into Bakura's jean leg and staring at Bakura's crotch as if it were an exhibit at an art gallery.

Bakura tried not to squirm. He knew Marik got off when watching Bakura get needy, so he made Marik earn each moment. However, the closer Marik's fingers danced to Bakura's crotch, the more he wanted to nudge himself closer to Marik's hand.

Marik licked his bottom lip. "Wonder if I can make you beg for it."

Now Bakura was shifting his body into Marik's touch. He couldn't help it. "If you do, it doesn't count as part of the ten – those are given not asked for."

Marik thought that over. "Still might be worth it."

"Marik," Bakura hissed.

Marik grinned as he removed Bakura's pants. As soon as his mouth touched Bakura's skin, Bakura moaned. He shifted himself in and out of Marik's mouth, using Marik's hair like reigns.

Marik purred, sending vibrations through Bakura's shaft.

"Shit," Bakura slammed his eyes shut and moved a little quicker.

Marik pulled back a moment, stroking Bakura with a clenched fists. "Do I get to take you after this?"

Bakura nodded his head, though at that moment he would have agreed to anything. Marik rewarded his answer with his mouth sinking back down Bakura's phallus.


	50. no, Mau, I hate you

They locked her out of the room at night. Otherwise she tried to play with their feet while they slept, and feeling unexplained whiskers brushing against you was creepy when you were in the middle of making love. The only problem being, she pined at the door every morning at exactly 5:50.

"No, Mau, I hate you," Bakura muttered as he pushed his face harder against Marik's shoulder in order to drown out the insistent meows.

By 6:00, he shuffled down the hall and to the kitchen where Mau's food dish sat empty. "I hate you so much."

After filling it, he crawled back into bed.

Later that day, as he checked his emails, Bakura heard a small jingle and a smaller meow. He glanced down and two large, green eyes stared back at him. A toy mouse dangled from her mouth. Bakura shook his head. "No, I don't want to play. I hate you."

He grabbed the mouse and tossed it across the living room to get rid of her. She fetched it and brought it back to him. He'd throw it away, and each time she brought it back.

As Bakura made a sandwich, she rubbed against his ankles. "Hell no, you're not getting any of my roast beef."

Perhaps a piece fell on the floor, and Bakura was too lazy to pick it up.

Marik went out to run errands and Bakura stole the opportunity for a nap on the sofa. He felt a soft weight shifting on his stomach. Bakura growled. "Go away, cat. I can't stand you."

Mau walked up to Bakura's chest, circled twice, and settled down on top of him. Bakura rolled his eyes and scratched behind her ear.

Marik came home and noticed Bakura asleep on the couch, arms curled around a small patch of black.


	51. on a Wednesda

*****Full Title: On A Wednesday. In The Middle Of The Afternoon. In A Hallway. On The Most Uninteresting Day Of Their Lives*****

Marik had a basket of laundry propped against his hip. He stepped through the hallway, carrying the clothes to their bedroom to be sorted and folded.

Bakura walked from the other direction. Marik didn't pay him much notice until Bakura grabbed his shoulders and pressed him against the wall. The basket dropped from his hand and tossed the clothing to the floor.

"Bakura, what the fu—"

"Shut-up." Bakura pressed a pale finger against Marik's lips. He leaned close. His lips brushed against Marik's ear as he spoke. "Marik, I love you."

Bakura continued down the hallway as Marik stood, blinking his eyes and trying to breathe.


	52. sex dice

Marik walked into the bedroom and noticed Bakura laying on the bed and looking smug. Marik raised an eyebrow. "What's up, Kura?"

The slightest roll of eyes at the nickname, but it wasn't enough to remove the satisfied grin from Bakura's face. He lifted up a hand, two large, red, six sided dice sat snugly between his fingers.

"Dice," Marik said.

"Yes."

"For what game?"

"A fun one."

"Yeah?"

Bakura flicked his wrist and the dice tumbled against the mattress, no doubt landing on exactly the sides in which Bakura meant for them to land.

Marik didn't look at the dice - his eyes trained on Bakura's brown, velvet gaze. "You can roll dice for whatever you want."

"Yes, I can."

"Did you play fair?"

He smirked.

Marik mirrored his expression. "Fine. The game is rigged, but that's never stopped me from playing before."

He walked up to the bed, allowing his eyes to settle onto the dice. One had pictures of a couple in different positions and the other had various rooms. The roll landed on against the wall and bathroom. Marik chuckled, scooping Bakura up so he could carry him to the shower.


	53. that awkward moment when

Marik and Bakura dashed into the restroom to get a moment without the music blasting their intestines. They leaned against the sink, the mirror beside them showing a double image of them. Marik checked the Kohl around his eyes since the mirror was there.

Bakura sighed. "Should you say it? Or should I?"

Marik flashed teeth through his grin. "What? That we're getting too old for this?"

Bakura shrugged. "The music is bad. I'd rather dance in the kitchen."

"Well, let's find a liquor store, stock up, and get smashed in our hotel room instead."

Bakura stepped backwards towards the bathroom stall. "Sounds like a plan, but first – do you know what we're not too old for?"

Marik arched his eyebrows. "Sex in a club bathroom stall?"

Bakura kept stepping back, and Marik followed him.

* * *

><p><strong>***I need like a dozen more drabbles and ideas are getting harder to come up with . . . any suggestions?***<strong>


	54. one liner

They ate grapes, teeth renting taunt, pale green flesh and sweet-tart juice bursting over their tongues.


	55. fine! let's call this one chapter 54&5

*****Okay. I just wrote this - like two minutes ago - because of supersteffy's review. She had a valid point. So, if you like it, thank her.*****

* * *

><p>Marik tugged at the blanket wrapped around Bakura. "What are you, a baby bird? You're wrapped up in a little nest."<p>

Already starting to doze, Bakura opened one eye to glare at Marik. "I prefer the term thief's den."

"Well?" Marik tugged at the blanket with both hands, but it was too cocooned around Bakura for him to make much progress.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to untangle yourself so I can go to bed?"

"Screw you. That's what you get for taking so long to get ready for bed."

"Well, I have to moisturize."

Bakura smirked, his face mostly buried under the comforter. "You're so gay."

"Said the bottom to the top."

"Have fun sleeping without a blanket."

"Fine. You want to stay in your little bundle? Fine." Marik flopped on top of Bakura, his body on top of Bakura's and his limbs spread out to each side. "Goodnight, asshole."

They lay like that for a full minute before Bakura spoke. "So . . ."

"So are you going to untangle yourself from the blanket?"

"What's in it for me if I do?"

"I get off of you."

Bakura smirked again. "What if I let you beneath the covers . . . but you stay on top of me."

Marik shifted so Bakura could fix the comforter. He shook his head at Bakura. "You have an odd notion of foreplay, you know that right?"


	56. socks

"Gods, Bakura, you need new socks."

Bakura frowned. "There's nothing wrong with my socks."

"Yes there is. They're full of holes."

"They're fine."

Marik pointed at Bakura's left foot. "I can see your entire heel poking out! When's the last time you bought socks?"

Bakura thought for a moment. "When we went to Vegas?"

"The first day you resurrected?" Marik shouted. "No wonder all your socks look like they're fifteen years old."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Fourteen, honestly, Marik, the way you round numbers."

"Shut-up, we're going to the store."


	57. nightmare

Bronze and blood and fire and sweat and Marik always forgot that he wasn't ten anymore when his nightmares came.

It had to stop. The pain had to stop somehow, by any means. The binds around Marik's wrists snapped and he reached out for the Rod, gold blade hidden at the tip gleaming in flax-oil lamp light. Marik squeezed the Rod in his hand, leaping at the attacker carving the Pharaoh's memories into his skin. He stabbed until the golden Rod, greased with blood, slipped out of his hand, and then Marik collapsed on the corpse. Marik wailed.

He felt arms wrap around him. Marik struggled for a moment and woke to Bakura rocking him.

"I hate this!" Marik shrieked.

"I'm here."

Marik felt boneless, slumped in Bakura's arms. "Don't leave."

"What do you mean?"

Marik shuddered. "I mean don't leave."

Bakura sighed. "Marik, why would I leave?"

"I've become boring."

Bakura chuckled. "Haven't you noticed? So have I. I'll never leave you, idiot."


	58. metabolism is a btch

Bakura stood naked in front of the mirror and stared at the little bump of his stomach as Marik dried his hair.

"This . . . is new." He patted his belly and frowned. It was only an inch of belly fat, but the way Bakura stood, one would think he was measuring his baby bump.

Marik snorted. "Well, I'm sorry Mr. Legendary Thief King that thinks he's immune to all things mortal, but you're in your thirties, you don't exercise, and you eat like shit."

Marik could see Bakura's reflection scowling. "Maybe I should start jogging with you in the mornings."

"If you want." Marik dropped his towel into the clothes hamper and walked up behind Bakura, wrapping his arms around Bakura. "But I think it's kinda sexy. I like to kiss your belly."

"You'll like to kiss it when it's flat again."

"Either way."

Bakura gave up on the mirror and searched for something to wear. "You know, it wasn't suppose to be like this. Legends aren't suppose to live long enough to see their metabolisms slow down. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here and then I wouldn't have to wake up in the mornings to go jogging."

"Well, no one said life was easy, Kura." Marik laughed. "But I am glad you decided to change your plans for my convenience."


	59. flu

Bakura threw up. He never threw up (well, that one time they drank too much, but he blamed the Chartreuse). His body ached and burned. His eyes watered, his nose ran, and spittle dribbed from his mouth as he resisted the urge to vomit again. Bakura washed his mouth and stumbled back to his bedroom.

Marik sat up waiting for him. "Are you all right, Bakura?"

Bakura sniffed. "I'm sick." He dropped into bed and curled up against Marik. "Coddle me."

Marik chuckled, running cool fingers through Bakura's long hair. "I didn't think coddling was something legendary thieves ever wanted."

Bakura only managed a moan.

Marik settled down closer to Bakura. "You want me to stay in bed with you all day?"

Bakura nodded.

"Okay. I won't get up unless you want some soup."


	60. strip poker

"This is kinda blasphemous, don't you think?" Marik set one card down.

Bakura replaced it with a new one, taking two for himself. "Perhaps for a tomb-keeper it is. For me, Duel Monsters was always a means to an end. I have no loyalty to the game. What do you have?"

Marik licked his lips. "A flush."

"Dammit." Bakura smacked his cards on the table, revealing a three of a kind.

"Pay up." Marik leaned back. He'd only taken off his shirt so far.

Bakura took off his pants and dropped them in the growing pile of socks, a belt, and his shirt. "I fucking hate card games."


	61. vacation 3

The suitcases lay sprawled across the bed again, and that meant one thing. Marik raised an eyebrow at Bakura.

He smirked, and smoothed down his hair. "Hope Diamond."

Marik laughed. "Sure, why not? Where will we go when we're done?"

Bakura grinned like a devil. "New York is close. We could get pizza."

Marik narrowed his eyes. "Did you just plan a heist based on what junk food you wanted this weekend?"

" . . . No."

"You're taking me to see a show afterward."


	62. degrees of perfection

They were trying to have sex, but they couldn't stop laughing. Worst of it was, neither of them really knew _why_ they laughed so hard.

The foreplay had been sultry, lingering kisses, caresses against pulse points and other erogenous areas. When Marik entered, Bakura screamed his name so loud that they expected neighbors to pound on the wall. It started hard and fast and breathless.

But then they looked at each other.

And everything unraveled as they busted into fits of laughter, as madness took them both at once. They tried to calm their breathing, Bakura hiding into Marik's taunt, golden chest to avoid eye contact and another inevitable round of uncontrollable chuckling.

There's nothing harder in the world than trying to stop laughing when you're spread out naked in bed with a hamper of laundry sitting on your dresser and another man's dick up your ass.


	63. library

*****Thanks to AngelRosemary for the library suggestion*****

* * *

><p>"Hurry up, I hate this place," Bakura said as they climbed the steps to the library.<p>

"It's just a library, Bakura."

"That old hag behind the counter glares at me."

"That's because you scowl all the time and read on your phone when books are literally surrounding you."

"What's the point of living in the future if you can't read on your Kindle app?"

Marik chuckled. "We live in the present - not the future."

"For you, maybe, but for me this is some science fiction bullshit." Bakura pulled out his phone. "This damn thing is a phone, a camera, a gps, an alarm clock, a book shelf, it plays games, it has my grocery list, and my manga collection, I can check my email, and this phone has more processing power than the old lap top Ryou and I used to use for our Monster World campaigns when he was a teenager. Join me in the future, Tomb Keeper. Let's leave this place and go buy you a kindle so we can sit in our underwear at home and never visit this vile place again."

Marik grabbed Bakura's arm and pulled him into the building, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Screw you. I like my books made out of paper."


	64. wake-up call

"Wake-up, Kura."

Bakura swatted at Marik's shaking hands. "Fuck you, it's still dark outside."

"You wanted to go jogging with me."

"What?"

"Jogging. You wanted to go. This is when I go."

"It's too early."

"It's too hot once the sun's up."

Bakura shifted so he could crack an eye open at Marik. "I'll go tomorrow."

"You've been saying that for two weeks."

Bakura rolled on his back with closed eyes. "I'd just slow you down."

Marik snorted. "Whatever then, I'm not even going to try and wake you up tomorrow."

"I'll eat a grapefruit for breakfast instead of toast," Bakura murmured, already falling back asleep.


	65. lap dance

Marik sat tied to a chair thinking how odd it was that certain situations seemed horrific during any other circumstances, but when your lover did them – they were thrilling. He supposed that was _why_ they were thrilling. It was the kind of control you wanted to horde for yourself, but when that other person was so utterly _a part of you, _they could do anything and you could trust them to make it good.

Music played in the room; a lamp kept the light ambient, but there was enough of it to ward off the anxiety attacks Marik still struggled with when he had to be in a dark room.

Bakura walked out, wearing only his underwear. The muscles in his thighs and calves rippled as he started to do a teasing dance. Marik smirked, drinking in the sight. Bakura was a drama queen when he complained about his figure. Even with the inch of belly fat - for it really was only an inch - his body was lithe, and years of dancing had toned his legs and allowed his abs to roll and circle in the most seductive of ways.

Marik strained against his bindings, wanting to grab Bakura, wanting to bend him over the chair and bury himself inside Bakura's body, but the thief knew how to tie a knot. The more Marik struggled, the tighter the bindings dug into his wrists, but it was worth the struggle all the same.

Bakura hovered over Marik's lap, hair draped over his shoulders in a mess of wisps and half-curls. He spun around and teased Marik's crotch with light swivels of his ass. The long, flowing streamers of white hair tickled Marik's chest, but Marik didn't complain because he was too busy leaning closer and inhaling the scent of Bakura's hair.

"Bakura," Marik growled Bakura's name, his tone gruff and needful.

"Soon," Bakura whispered back, sitting on Marik's lap in order to increase the friction between them.

Bakura danced until Marik couldn't stop bucking his hips against Bakura's back side, growling curses and erotic threats into Bakura's ear. Then and only then did Bakura – already flushed and breathing heavily from the lap dance – slip out of the scrap of cloth he wore and sit in Marik's lap.


	66. driving

Bakura did crazy things as a thief three thousand years ago. Robbing trap-burdened tombs, avoiding guards whenever he went to town to fence his treasures, dragging a dead Pharaoh's sarcophagus into the palace while trying to overthrow the current Pharaoh. He knew how to take risks.

Although the most dangerous thing Bakura figured he'd ever done was ride through Luxor traffic with Marik on his motorcycle. His partner seemed to have a personal hatred for staying in any given lane and never slowed down regardless what happened to the rest of the traffic.

They never wrecked, but still, a simple trip to market felt more harrowing than when Bakura literally died three thousand years ago.

"Dammit, Marik, if my hair wasn't already white, your driving would fix that," Bakura complained once they'd returned home.

Marik grinned. "What? Do you miss riding horses?"

Bakura snorted. "Yes. They didn't have horns to blare."

Marik shrugged. "Still, it's nice to have an excuse for you to hold on to me in public."


	67. nail clippings

*****Just think, one day you too may be married and able to enjoy sh*t like this*****

"Bakura!" Marik groaned, his tone disgusted.

"What the hell did I do this time?" Bakura snapped back, irritated.

"Can you explain why there's a pile of _toe nail clippings_ on the nightstand?"

Bakura started laughing. He slipped out of bed and brushed the brittle sickles of nail clippings off of the nightstand and into his hand before taking them to the nearest trash bin. "Oooops, forgot about those."

"You're such a pig."

"You're such a bitch."

"You're an asshole."

"You're a bitch!"

"Idiot, you already said that."

Bakura scowled. "Don't fight with me before noon if you expect original retorts."


	68. perfect

As she grew, Mau learned how to open the bedroom door by hooking her paw beneath it and pushing up and forward at the same time. Since she only snuck into their room in the mornings, both Bakura and Marik ignored the fact and never fixed the door to stop her.

Bakura woke up with Marik's leg hitched across Bakura's lower stomach, and Marik's arm hooked across Bakura's chest. On his other side, Mau slept curled in a ball, using Bakura's right shoulder as a pillow. He looked around the room. Grey light washed over the walls and ceiling. Marik's bedside lamp painted a circle of yellow light around the bed, and Bakura took a moment to admire his partner as he slept bathed in light. Bakura's eyes trailed to the ceiling, and he grinned.

"Holy shit my life is perfect," he whispered to himself and to the gray ceiling above him.

At the sound of his voice, Marik sighed and squeezed Bakura tighter. Bakura turned his head in order to kiss Marik's forehead, and then he went back to staring at the ceiling, too content to get out of bed even though he was awake.


	69. chapter 69

Strands of Marik's hair tickled Bakura's alabaster thighs. He knelt on hands and knees over Bakura, kissing along the lower curve of Bakura's stomach as Bakura kissed up the back of Marik's bronzed thighs. A taijitu of white ice and gold fire, of pale marble and polished brass, Bakura and Marik teased each other, waiting to see who'd give in first.

Bakura's fingers caressed the sensitive skin near Marik's entrance. Marik broke, closing his eyes and moaning as he took Bakura's length in his mouth, allowing the last resonances of his moan to vibrate his lips against Bakura's erection.

Bakura called out when he felt Marik's mouth, returning the favor by circling his tongue around Marik's asshole.

With his forearm propped against Bakura's body for support, Marik used his left hand to hold Bakura's base. Meanwhile, Marik's right hand stroked his own erection as he and Bakura continued to use their mouths to please each other.

They knew each other.

It wasn't their first time, or even their 500th time, and there were certain benefits of a consistent, committed relationship. Marik knew Bakura so well that he timed his own strokes in such a way that they climaxed at the same time.


	70. slow dance

They usually didn't slow dance. They preferred the cat and mouse of tango, always pushing away and pulling each other close, coy and aggressive and playful and wicked all at once. But that evening they swayed back and forth in each other's arms.

Perhaps it'd been the pesto Bakura made, all basil and garlic and aphrodisiac-magic, or it could have been the bottle of wine they'd drank with the meal. Regardless of the reason, they found themselves brushing their cheeks together and holding one another's hips as they slid across the carpet in the living room.

Songs faded and new songs began, one after another. They ignored the world of busy traffic and people in favor of the smaller, superior universe created by the space of their enclosed bodies. Bakura slipped one of his hands under Marik's shirt and circled his fingers against the small of Marik's back. Marik's hands found their way from Bakura's hips to his ass. In no hurry, still dancing, they started shifting their way towards to hallway that lead into the bedroom.


	71. japan part 1

Marik saw the suitcases again and plopped on the bed. "Oh, goody. Vacation time."

Bakura smiled as he packed his and Marik's clothes into the suitcase. Mau jumped into one of the pieces of luggage and curled up to sleep. Bakura snorted at the cat, and then looked at Marik. "You sound less than excited."

Marik pursed his lips together for a moment. "I like traveling. It's just that I . . . don't really feel like stealing anything at the moment."

Bakura's smile grew into a smirk. "Getting soft on me, Marik?"

Marik gave the carpet a sad look.

Bakura laughed, and walked around to where Marik sat. He plopped into Marik's lap, stole Marik's hands, and wrapped them around his own stomach. He leaned back into Marik's chest. "Japan, Marik, we're just going to Japan."

Marik rested his chin on Bakura's shoulder. "Are we going to steal the Masamune?"

Bakura chuckled and shook his head. "No. We're going to visit Ryou."

"So . . . we're going on a normal vacation?"

Bakura huffed, indignant. "You don't have to go saying it like that. We're simply going to be too busy to bother stealing anything this time."

Marik laughed. "Even after all these years, is it still that hard for you to admit we're going to do something for fun?"

"Marik, shut-up and help me pack."


	72. japan part 2

The three of them stood there for a moment, staring at each other in awkward silence. Some of the softness had left Ryou's face since last Marik saw him, but otherwise he looked the same. After some time, Ryou balled his hands into fists. "Oh quit being stupid and give me a hug." He threw his arms around Bakura.

Bakura released the breath he'd been holding. He stood stiff as if he'd expected Ryou to stab him. Marik accepted his hug with a little more poise.

"It's good to see you guys," Ryou said.

Bakura snorted.

"How was your flight?"

Bakura snorted a second time, but Marik answered. "It was fine. We hit some turbulence, but nothing severe."

Ryou tilted his head, staring at Bakura. A smile crept onto his face. "Hey Bakura, you want to help me do something horrible to Yugi?"

Bakura smirked. "Maybe."

"So this is what I was thinking." Ryou spoke as much with hand gestures as with words as he laid out his plan. "Yugi runs the game shop now and his part time help called in, so he asked me to help him out for a few hours today. I thought it'd be really funny if you barged in screaming and acting like a psycho while I pretend to be scared and hide behind the counter." Ryou laughed at the thought of his own plan.

"That's a horrible idea." Marik scowled. "He doesn't know Bakura's back and it's better we keep it that way."

Ryou scratched the back of his head. "Actually . . . he does."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Really, Ryou?"

"Not me!"

Marik winced. "Dammit, Ishizu."

Ryou chuckled. "Yeah, every time she brings Bastet to visit. Ishizu likes to brag about both of you."

Bakura slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "That annoying woman. How dare she say nice things about me behind my back."

Ryou shrugged. "So . . . are you in? Maybe we can get your wicked reputation back."

Bakura chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, thinking. "This plan of yours is obviously going to come back to bite me in the ass somehow – but I'm in."


	73. japan part 3

*****Sorry if this one is too ridiculous. *guilty shrug* It, uh, seemed funny when I wrote it? (100 was probably a little ambitious of a number for this project. I don't ever want to write another drabble again).*****

* * *

><p>Marik was good at molding his face into any emotional expression he choose, but even he had trouble keeping up his devious expression as he and Bakura slammed the doors open and stormed into the game shop. Bakura ranted something about the fruition of his long awaited revenge, and it was so ridiculous Marik held his breath to keep from laughing.<p>

Ryou shrieked and crouched to the floor, and Bakura threw his head back to laugh. He took another step closer, and that's when Yugi chucked his cell phone at Bakura's face. The black phone hit Bakura below the eye hard enough to knock him onto his ass. Marik winced at the sight.

Bakura held his eye and laughed hysterically as he sat on the floor. Watching him do it made Marik chuckled as well. It was so . . . typical – that their plan would fail from the beginning. Even in jest, they couldn't beat Yugi.

"Oh, Bakura!" Ryou jumped up and ran to Bakura to examine his eye.

Bakura still laughed, tears leaked from his rapidly blinking eye. "It's the same eye as when we played Monster World."

"Oh my goodness." Ryou looked and then giggled. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

"What's going on?" Yugi shouted. He still stood shorter than the rest of them, but he'd gained several centimeters since Marik last saw him during the Ceremonial Duel. A few wrinkles crinkled around Yugi's eyes which somehow made Marik feel victorious in a different sort of way since neither he, nor Bakura, really showed their age.

"We were just joking, Yugi. You didn't have to be so mean," Ryou chided his friend.

Bakura slapped at Ryou's fingers. "I'm fine. Stop mothering me."

"But I think it's going to bruise."

"So what?"

"Ryou." Yugi frowned. "How could you scare me like that? I thought you were in danger."

Ryou rubbed the back of his head. "Well, it seemed so funny in my head. Y'know, kinda like the time Mai and I convinced Jonouchi that she died."

Marik offered Bakura a hand and helped him to his feet. Bakura looked sheepish, shrugging at Marik and ignoring Yugi altogether. "Well, that went pretty much as expected. Want to find a bar? I could use some beer now."

Ryou frowned. "Don't go to the bar without me. Let's go when I'm done here."

Marik raised one of his eyebrows at Bakura. "We could go walk by the pier."

"That _wasn't_ our first date."

Marik grinned wider. "Sure it was."

As if the general chaos wasn't enough. Two children burst into the room from a door behind the counter. Both had tri-colored, unruly hair so it was obvious who's children they were; nonetheless, it was odd for Marik to think of Yugi with children of his own.

"Daddy!" The girl, perhaps seven or maybe eight, screamed at the top of her lungs. "Atemu stole the last popsicle and it was mine!"

"It's red! It's mine!" The boy, four at most, screamed back at his sister as she chased him.

They raced in circles around Marik, Ryou, and Bakura. Marik noticed the nervous look on Yugi's face.

"You guys, get back over here. I'll buy more ice-pops." Yugi told them, stepping from behind the counter and closer to his kids.

They ignored him, screaming and chasing each other.

"Tch," Bakura snorted. Before either child had a chance to argue or protest, he stole the ice-pop from the boy's hand, snapped it in half, and handed a piece to each child.

They stopped, staring up and blinking at him as if he were a wizard. Marik couldn't help but smile, it reminded him of when Bastet was their age.

The boy grinned first. "Thanks, old man!" He ran to the backroom, slurping on his half of the red ice-pop.

The girl nodded, giving a little bow. "Thank you." She went to chase her brother again.

Yugi stood blinking, his mouth gaped open. For a awkward moment no one spoke, then Yugi said, "uh, thanks, Bakura. They mind Anzu more than me."

Bakura gave a little snort for a reply before turning back to Marik with an exasperated sigh. "Fine, we'll go to the pier."

Marik poked Bakura's chest as they made for the door. "You're a big softy."

"Shut-up. I expect a blow job while we're at the pier."

"Couldn't we just stab you again? That was so much fun last time."

"Only if you jump into the ocean and find my old knife."

They exited the game shop, leaving Ryou giggling and Yugi blinking in confusion.


	74. sake bombs (japan part 4)

They pounded their fists against the table as the counted. "Ichi . . . ni . . . san—"

The glasses of sake dropped into the beer before they could finish, so they brushed the chop sticks aside from their beer mugs and started chugging.

Marik set his mug down first, still two-thirds full. "Nope. Not happening." He shook his head and took another sip, refusing to race.

Bakura and Ryou, on the other hand, glared at each other as they sucked swallow after swallow from their mugs, refusing to breathe as they each tried to be the first to finish.

Ryou won, slamming his mug back to the table and shouting. "Ha! I beat you, Bakura."

Bakura finished a few seconds afterward. "You bitch! I'll get you on the next round."

Marik shook his head as he continued to nurse his drink. "I can't carry you both home."

Ryou smiled. "This is nothing. You should have been here for my birthday. Everyone was so drunk that we couldn't even _find _Honda until Mai saw him asleep under the kitchen table." Ryou bounced up to his feet. "I'll buy the next round."


	75. japan part 5

"So you've packed everything?" Ryo asked as he served them breakfast.

"Yeah," Bakura answered.

"You didn't forget anything?"

"No."

"And you have your passports?"

"Ryou, it's not my first day at school. We've traveled before."

Ryou gave Bakura a guilty smile. "Sorry."

Marik snorted into his bowl of oatmeal. "Don't apologize to him, Ryou. If I didn't hold his passport for him, he'd probably still be in Spain."

Bakura leaned back into his chair. "I think I'd make a great gitano."

A horn honked outside. Marik stood up. "That's probably our cab."

Ryo stood up as well. He hugged both Marik and Bakura. "Visit again, okay?"

Bakura gestured with a sweeping hand movement. "I suppose we'll have to. Marik's too lazy to go on heists with me anymore."

*****We're done with Japan. Minutes before midnight. Post is still on time ;) sorry it's late, my sister went into labor XD*****


	76. make-up

"Make-up." Marik sighed.

Bakura smirked. "Yup."

"I can't believe she's wearing make-up now."

"Well, Bastet is a teenager. Teenagers wear make-up."

Marik crossed his arms over his chest. "And when, exactly, did that happen? I swear she was six only a month ago."

Bakura chuckled. "I know."

"It's _crazy_."

Bakura's face grew a little more serious.

Marik noticed. "What?"

Bakura shook his head. "Nothing."

Mau started rubbing against his ankles as if she sensed Bakura's change in mood as well.

"See?" Marik gestured to the cat. "Even Mau has you figured out."

Bakura looked down at the cat and sighed, picking her up and scratching below her throat. "Did you notice? She called me Bakura."

"Oh. That sucks." For once, Marik wasn't mocking.

"On the bright side," Bakura's trademarked grin appeared on his face, "she can't possibly get into half the shit you did at her age."

* * *

><p><strong>***In Marik's defense, it was only a month ago.***<strong>


	77. empty nest syndrome

Bakura walked through the door, a bag in each hand from the market. He closed the door and took the bags to the kitchen.

He sensed Marik behind him. "Hey Kura . . ."

"Yeah?" Bakura turned and looked at Marik over his shoulder as he unpacked groceries.

"I . . . have a surprise for you." Marik flashed him a guilty grin.

Bakura narrowed his eyes. "What kind of surprise?"

"Well, a present really."

He set a bag of chickpeas on the counter and turned around. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to, stupid. Close your eyes."

Bakura did as he was told and felt Marik's hand tugging him forward. He walked blind down the hall and towards their room. "Is this necessary, Marik?"

"No, but it is more fun this way. Almost there. Don't hit the door frame. Okay. Stand there."

He felt Marik shift, moving from in front of him to behind him. "Open your eyes."

Bakura opened his eyes, and then covered them with his hand as if to un-see the gift. "Oh no. Why did you buy me another one?"

"I . . ." Marik turned away. "Missed having something small around the house."

Bakura smirked. "Mau's still pretty small."

"Shut-up, you know what I meant."

"You really have gone soft on me, Marik." Bakura went to the bed and picked up the bundle of white fur sleeping on their comforter. She had an orange, left ear, and three orange rings on her tail, but otherwise she was white as Bakura.

Marik frowned at the carpet.

Bakura walked up to Marik, holding the kitten over his left shoulder as if burping an infant. She started purring as soon as he rubbed the back of her orange ear.

He used his right hand to cradle the back of Marik's head. "You know, you don't have to look so upset every time I say that."

"But . . . it's true. I have. I know I'm stupid, but I like doing stuff with you, and watching that dumb, tender look on your face when you think I'm not looking, and . . . I mean, it's just I love you so much that—"

Bakura shut Marik up with a series of gentle, delicate kisses. "You're such an idiot, Marik. I said you're soft – I never said I didn't like it."

A small laugh slipped out of Marik's lips. "What are you naming her?"

"White Mage."


	78. reading glasses

Bakura sighed, rolling his eyes. "Will you just get reading glasses already?"

Marik looked up from his book in order to glare at Bakura. "We've been over this."

"Yes, we have. Many times, and you're still squinting when you read."

"I'm just tired."

"Marik."

"I don't want to talk about this."

Bakura grabbed the book and closed it, but his expression was grave instead of smug.

"What the fuck, Bakura? Go do something that doesn't involve bothering me."

"You're squinting because you can't see the words as well as you used to."

"Shit, I'm not that goddamned old. Just let me read."

Bakura sighed again. "Marik, it probably wasn't good for your eyes – to be in the dark all those years."

Marik held his breath. His hands stopped reaching for his book so they could ball into fists. "Ishizu doesn't use glasses and she was underground longer than me."

"Yes, but who was forced to read hieratic all day with nothing but a flax lamp?"

"Why do you always ask stupid questions that you already know the answers to?"

"Because you make me fight for every answer." Bakura handed back the book. "Just get your damn eyes checked."

"Why do you even care?"

It was Bakura's turn to clench his hands into fists. "I can care about you if I fucking want to."

And it was Marik's turn to sigh – his anger diffused. "Okay. I'll make a stupid appointment for an eye exam."


	79. movie

Bakura slapped his forehead. "Wait. No, wait. Was that the ending?"

Marik blinked at the t.v. screen. "Yeah, I think so."

"It can't end like that. I mean, no. It can't end like that."

"Well there are the credits on the screen, so it did end like that."

Bakura punched the sofa. "That's bullshit! What a shitty spot to end a movie!"

Marik smirked. "Something awful probably happens. That's the impression I got."

"No, fuck that. That's a bullshit ending."

Marik looked amused. "I liked it."

"You know what, Marik? Fuck you, fuck the director, fuck the producer, fuck the screen writer, fuck everyone."

Marik laughed.

"What's so fucking funny?" Bakura crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's just cute to see you so worked up."

"I'm not worked up," Bakura insisted. "I just want a proper damn ending, that's all."


	80. breakfast in bed

The smell of bacon woke him. Bakura shifted his eyes opened and saw Marik standing over him, smiling and holding a tray.

"Morning," Marik whispered.

"Hey." Bakura smiled at the sight of Marik, too warm and sleepy to disguise his face into a more neutral tone.

Marik lifted up the tray. "I made you breakfast. Thought maybe you wouldn't be in the mood to get out of bed.

"Mmmm, I'm never in the mood to get out of bed." Bakura sat up, studying Marik. "Why . . .?"

Marik smiled and looked away. "I don't know . . . you always sneak me off to the desert for picnics so we can watch the sunrise. I thought I should do something like that for you."

Bakura couldn't stop smiling, but he managed to clear his throat and say. "It's about time I get some appreciation around here."

"I'm going to dump coffee over your head." Marik snorted, setting the tray down on Bakura's lap.

He stared at the coffee, eggs, bacon, and waffles set before him, still grinning. "You wouldn't stain the sheets."

"Lucky for you."


	81. honey off the comb

***** Idea suggested by Yami-the-Dark*****

* * *

><p>Bakura blamed the caffeine and sugar for his mood, and the fact that he'd already eaten breakfast but had yet to get out of bed. He and Marik talked of nothing and then more nothing as they ate, but once they finished, and Marik tried to get up to put their trays away, Bakura grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to the bed.<p>

"Come on, Bakura, I have to do dishes."

"Later. I want to thank you for breakfast." Bakura unbuttoned Marik's shirt and pants.

Marik's lavender eyes watched as Bakura undressed him. A smile tugged at the corner of Marik's lips. When Marik wore nothing but the smile, Bakura reached over and grabbed the bottle of honey from his breakfast tray – he preferred the taste of honey over maple for pancakes and waffles. Bakura drizzled the golden-brown liquid over Marik's golden-brown chest.

"Ug, Bakura, I'm going to be sticky."

"We'll take a shower after."

"Will _we_ do the dishes after as well?"

"Shut up and like what I'm doing to you."

Marik chuckled. "Out of any other lover's mouth that would sound atrocious."

"Are you saying you don't like this—" Bakura punctuated his sentence with a slow lick up Marik's chest.

Marik bit his bottom lip to prevent the moan trying to creep out of his throat.

"Or this?" Bakura wrapped his lips around Marik's berry-colored nipple and began to suck the honey off of Marik's skin.

Bakura locked his dark eyes on Marik's gaze as he licked the golden mess from Marik's chest. Marik couldn't hold out against Bakura's tongue and stare, and soon soft, pouty _ahhhs_ exhaled from Marik's mouth.

Bakura took the bottle in his hands again. He used one finger to hold Marik's erection straight up, and allowed the honey to pour down Marik's length. The syrup folded on top of Marik's tip like strips of gold ribbon that melted as they touched Marik's hot skin.

A little, stifled squeal slipped out of Marik's mouth; the honey felt cold.

Bakura started from the bottom and worked his way up. Marik kept himself shaved, so the honey only coated beautiful, tanned skin. Bakura drank the syrup off of Marik's thighs, licking carefully between Marik's legs and groin. Then he sucked the sweet, liquid sugar from Marik's testicles, moaning as he worked, his eyes never leaving Marik's sight. He moved his tongue up Marik's shaft, his licks languid and deliberate. When he finally reached the head, Bakura opened his mouth wide and took Marik's entire length into his mouth.

A golden sheen coated Bakura's lips. They shined from both honey and saliva. Bakura bobbed his head up and down and Marik's hips follow in time until Marik fisted the sheets and called out Bakura's name.


	82. appendicitis

They'd spent a long night in a hospital waiting room, but now they were home. Bakura walked in behind Marik. He watched as Marik walked around their apartment and turned on every light in reach. Living with Marik for so long, Bakura was used to a light (or three) being on, but this was worse.

The artificial light and sleepless night accented the fine lines sneaking around Marik's eyes, making him look old.

"Marik," Bakura whispered, knowing Marik wouldn't talk about it unless Bakura goaded him a little bit.

"You should go to sleep," Marik answered.

"_We_ should sleep."

"I'll be right there."

"After you finish the next chapter?" The joke sounded hollow, and Bakura winced after he said it. Marik didn't respond at all, so Bakura stopped teasing and became blunt. "Rishid is fine. He'll leave the hospital soon and he'll be drinking beer and watching football again in no time."

Marik balled his hands into fists, still staring at a lamp. "He should have gone to the hospital sooner. As soon as his side started hurting he should have gone."

"You wouldn't have. Ishtars are too stubborn for practicality."

Marik turned to Bakura, his lavender eyes clouded with anger, but Bakura knew the fury wasn't directed at him. "His appendix ruptured, Bakura. He could have died."

"But he didn't."

"Because we took him to the hospital . . ." Marik's breathing shrank to quick, shallow gasps. "Because we took . . . if we'd still been underground . . ."

And there it was, the real reason Marik was upset. Bakura walked up to him and threw his arms around the freed tomb-keeper. "You're not."

Marik's tears sounded like little, drunken hiccups. They felt hot on Bakura's neck as he held Marik and let him get out what he'd been holding in since Rishid passed out the evening before.

"Underground he would have died," Marik hissed between sobs. "If we'd stayed underground, he'd be dead now. He'd be dead. He—"

Bakura waited a moment, until Marik's tears ran their course. He slid his fingers through Marik's hair, rocking him a little as they stood. "You're not underground. You're here, Marik. Right here with me. Forever."

* * *

><p><strong>***Of course by football - I meant soccer. ***<strong>


	83. grocery shopping

*****Marik and Bakura at the grocery store was another suggestion by AngelRosemary.*****

* * *

><p>"Garlic, onions, ginger, lemongrass, carrots, spinach, watercress, lettuce, chickpeas, chicken, lamb . . ." Bakura's voice droned in a bored tone as he read their shopping list.<p>

They stood close together to avoid the market crowd. Bakura particularly kept his eyes trained on his phone so he didn't have to think about how many people surrounded them. Living alone in the desert all his former life, the idea of hordes of people bothered Bakura - to the point of anxiety if he didn't keep his mind occupied on something else.

Marik winced. "Do you even feel like cooking any of that today?"

Bakura frowned at his phone screen. "No."

They both stared at the empty basket and then each other.

Marik smirked. "So . . . you want to just goof around all day, go out for dinner, and worry about shopping tomorrow?"

Bakura shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Their hands bumped against each other as they turned to go. For a second they allowed their fingers to brush against each other, a secret gesture they often did in public to spite the society that didn't allow them to hold hands.


	84. fingers intertwined

Bakura held his breath and shuddered as an orgasm trembled through him. He exhaled and slumped over Marik, white body damp with sweat and his thighs still shaking. He sat straddled on top of Marik, leaning forward in order to twine their fingers together.

Marik smiled up at Bakura. Both lavender eyes flashed in the lamp light, bright with a blend of want and affection. Bakura drew his lips against Marik's and then whispered into Marik's ear. "I love you."

"I love you," Marik whispered back.

Bakura smirked and began circling his hips again. Marik gasped, closing his eyes. He hadn't finished yet. Bakura moved faster, but his fingers remained intertwined with Marik's the entire time.


	85. killing time

They played Duel Monsters, but it was a lazy game. They just wanted to pass the time with something other than t.v. Bakura looked up over his cards, staring at Marik. "I don't even know why the phrase is 'arguing like an old, married couple'. I mean, we're practicality an old married couple and we don't fight nearly as much as we did when we were younger."

Marik smirked, setting a card face down on the carpet. "You finally admit that we're married."

"I admitted that the first time I washed the dishes."

"I meant out loud."

Bakura winked. "Still won't admit it in front of Ishizu."

Marik snorted, waiting for Bakura to play a card. "You know, if it made you feel better I could pick a fight with you right now."

Bakura smirked. "That might kill some time."


	86. Rishid's secret

"That asshole!" Marik shouted as he walked into the living room.

Bakura sat on the couch playing Super Mario on an old, beat-up, Nintendo. Mau and White Mage curled in his lap like a yin-yang. "Gods, what did I do _this_ time?"

"No, not you. Rishid."

_That_ made Bakura pause the game. "You never get mad at baldy. What the hell did he do?"

"He has a girlfriend!"

"Good for him."

"But they've been seeing each other for years, and he never told me or Ishizu!"

Bakura grinned. "To be fair, I wouldn't want to bring a date home to meet the Ishtar family either."

"That's not fair – I brought you home."

"And they teased us – a lot. He probably doesn't want the revenge." Bakura set his control pad down, looking at Marik. "Also, you know the first words out of Ishizu's mouth will be 'how many kids do you plan on having?' I'm sure he doesn't want _that_ conversation."

Marik chuckled, sitting down on the couch. "She never has forgiven you, you know."

Bakura rolled his eyes, petting the heaps of fur in his lap. "Yes. I know." He looked at Marik. "So, what made him finally tell you?"

Marik snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "They got engaged."


	87. cuddling

Bakura turned and shifted beneath the blanket for the third time. Nothing was wrong, but he couldn't quite doze off no matter how he lay. Marik's arm wrapped around him and tugged him possessively into Marik's chest.

"Marik?" Bakura asked, wondering if Marik was awake as well.

If he was, Bakura could start an argument to keep him occupied until he got a little more tired, but Marik's only response to hearing his name was a deep sigh. Bakura wondered if Marik knew how cuddly he was when he slept.

Bakura shifted again, in order to get closer to Marik. The other male nuzzled into the crook of Bakura's shoulder blades and Bakura smiled. He still couldn't sleep, but it was nice to lay there and listen to Marik breathing.


	88. supernatural

*****This one was another request by Yami-the-Dark. Unfortunately, I haven't watched Supernatural since season 2, so I don't remember the show very well.*****

They only meant to watch a few episodes online, but found themselves trapped into the show. Their last three weekends had been swallowed up by Supernatural marathons as they caught up on all the seasons. Bakura leaned a little closer to Marik. "Sam or Dean?"

"What about them?"

"Who's more attractive?"

"Sam." Marik said it as if the answer should have been obvious.

"Really?"

"His hair."

"What is with you and hair?"

Marik shrugged. "It's one of the reasons I like you, stupid, so don't complain."

Bakura snorted. "Sam's goofy."

"They're both goofy."

Bakura didn't have a good counter argument for that statement, so he shrugged in defeat. A moment of silence passed and then Bakura smirked. "Okay, but what about Castiel?"

"Oh, definitely Castiel. His eyes are gorgeous."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "Did we just agree on something for once?"

Marik winked. "I won't tell anyone if you don't."


	89. cats

Bakura leaned forward a little in his seat, narrowing his eyes at Mau.

Marik stared at Bakura. "Bakura, why are you staring at the cat?"

"I'm trying to figure out what she's looking at."

"She's not looking at anything."

"I know. She's been staring intently at the same spot of nothing for quite some time now."

"Probably a dust mote."

"Dust motes move. Her eyes haven't moved at all."

Before Marik could retort, White Mage crept up behind Mau and pounced on her, leaping up and running after her ambush was complete. Mau chased the younger cat into the kitchen. After a crash, the two cats came running out of the kitchen – Mau now chasing White Mage.

"Damn, crazy cats," Marik grumbled as their destructive game of tag continued.

Bakura grinned. "Hey, you're the one that thought it'd be cute to have another one."


	90. birthday dinner

*****Yes. I'm in the 90's. Almost done with these. Lol.*****

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><p>"They kicked me out of my own kitchen," Ishizu said, sounding a little distressed over the matter.<p>

Bakura rolled his eyes towards her as he sat on the couch. He and Rishid watched sports while Bastet and Marik busied themselves in the kitchen. Bakura shrugged. "Of course they kicked you out. The whole point of us visiting is so Marik can help Bastet cook you dinner for your birthday."

"But I was only trying to help."

"You were probably trying to micromanage them. Just sit down and relax."

"I don't want to relax. That's stressful to me. It's like I'm wasting time when there's so much to do."

"Then grab some cards and we'll have a duel."

Ishizu frowned. "I haven't played that game in years."

"Good, maybe you're rusty and I can finally win a game."

Rishid's lip curled into a hint of a grin. "I doubt it."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, Baldy." Bakura crossed his arms over his chest, turning his attention back to Ishizu. "Get your cards or pace until your carpet wears out. It's all the same to me."


	91. gray hairs

*****Suggestion by Supersteffy.*****

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><p>They shared a mirror like they did most mornings, getting ready for the day.<p>

Marik looked at Bakura in the mirror's reflection. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You have an amused look on your face."

Bakura chuckled to himself. "You're being paranoid."

"Am I? I doubt it."

"It was nothing."

"It's never nothing with you."

"If I tell you - you'll yell at me like it's my fault, and it's not my fault this time."

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to set your copy of Sandman on fire."

Bakura didn't believe him, but Marik's threat still pissed him off. "Fine." He plucked a hair out of Marik's head.

Marik covered the area with both of his hands. "Ow. What the hell, Bakura?"

"Look." Bakura showed the hair to Marik. "It's gray."

"What?" Marik pinched the hair with his thumb and forefinger and took it from Bakura so he could examine it in the light. "No it's not."

"Yes it is. I saw at least three of them."

"No you didn't!"

Bakura's amused expression returned. "Yes. I did."

Marik scowled at the hair, silver instead of gold. "This _is_ your fault, you know."

Bakura snorted. "Told you I'd be blamed for this somehow."

"Well, if you didn't stress me out ever day for the last two decades then I wouldn't be going gray, already!"

Bakura fluffed his own hair with his fingers. "Lucky for me I'll never have to worry about my hair changing color."

"Oh fuck this. Come on, we're going to the store."

"Why? Are we getting you prunes and a walker?"

"Fuck you. We're getting a box of hair dye."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "It's just a few gray hairs. I only noticed because the bathroom lights were shining right on top of your head."

"I don't care. I'm dying my hair."

"That'll only cover the gray - it won't erase the fact that they're there."

Marik ground his teeth together. "If you tell anyone about this, I swear to the gods, Bakura."

Bakura only laughed at Marik's vague threat. "Who the hell am I going to tell? I don't talk to anyone but you, stupid."

Marik scowled. "This is still all your fault."


	92. one more dance

Except a small nightlight - Marik kept one in every room - the kitchen was dark. However, as soon as Marik walked into the kitchen, Armik started playing. That's when Marik noticed Bakura standing in the shadows. Marik grinned and flicked on the light. He didn't bother asking Bakura what was going on; he already knew Bakura wanted to dance. They walked towards each other, meeting in the center of the room.

Bakura drew a circle along the tiled floor with a bare toe. The movement lasted for eight counts, and then Marik moved in a little closer. Bakura stepped away for three counts, but on the forth he took a broad step forward so that he and Marik stood nose to nose. Their hips pressed together, and Marik found Bakura's hands. That's when they began.

It'd been awhile, but Marik's feet knew the steps even when his brain forgot them. They went through half a dozen songs before they took a break, sweating and panting. Marik leaned back against the counter, admiring the way the kitchen lights made the sweat on Bakura's body glow.

Bakura grinned. It was more amiable than his typical, facetious grin. "Do you have one more in you?"

Marik returned the smile. "At least. Maybe two or three more."


	93. blindfold part 1

Marik handed Bakura a long, black strip of silk. "Here."

Bakura looked down at the shimmering material with a confused look on his face. "Uh . . . it's very pretty, Marik. What am I suppose to do with this, exactly?"

Marik rolled his eyes. "It's a blindfold."

"Oh. Then shouldn't you have tied it around my eyes?"

Marik inhale and then exhaled, nervousness and exhilaration dueling in his mind. "It's not for you."

Bakura looked up. "Marik?"

Marik shrugged for lack of a better gesture to use. "I want you to use it on me."

"But you _hate_ anything that keeps you from seeing."

"Normally, but I think if it's with you I'll be okay."

Bakura stepped closer, brushing hair away from Marik's eyes. "You know . . ." he began, hesitating and then deciding to say what he was thinking. "You don't have to _prove_ anything."

"I know," Marik whispered, staring at the carpet for a moment. He lifted his face back up towards Bakura. "It's not that . . . it's that I feel like I'm missing _out_ on something if I don't do it."

Bakura gave Marik a wicked smile. "All right, then. I wouldn't want you to miss out. Let's go to the bedroom."

"Now? Bakura, it's noon."

"No time like the present, Ishtar. Let's go."


	94. blindfold part 2

Bakura tilted the blinds up in a way that would prevent people from being able to see through the window, but allowed extra sunlight into the room. He also turned on both of the lamps that sat on each side of their bed. Finally, he made sure the main room's light was switched on.

Marik tilted his head. "What's the point of turning on all the lights when I'm going to be blindfolded?"

"Because you'll know they're on," Bakura said.

Marik sighed as a swell of gratitude filled his chest.

Bakura looked at him. "Ready?"

Marik nodded his head. His face felt hot.

Bakura draped the black silk across Marik's eyes and tied it behind his head, and then he adjusted Marik's hair so that it wouldn't tickle his face. Marik took a few deep breaths, adjusting to the feeling of black across his eyes.

"You okay?" Bakura's voice asked right next to Marik's ear.

He nodded, not trusting his voice to sound steady. When he was younger, he hated shutting his eyes – even to sleep. Now, Marik sat and waited for Bakura to do something. He felt shifting on the bed, and heard the sounds of Bakura cluttering about their room.

Marik frowned. "What are you doing, Bakura? Get back over here."

Bakura gave Marik a low chuckle. "You're too impatient. The point of being blindfolded is to get teased. Let me find some things."

"Like what?"

Bakura clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I'm not going to ruin the surprise by telling you."

"Well hurry up. I don't have all day."

Another laugh. "Really? What, exactly, were your plans?"

Marik grit his teeth. "Fine. Let me rephrase myself. This blindfold has a time limit, so hurry the fuck up."

Bakura made a smug, purr-like noise – closer to Marik's ear than Marik would have guessed. "Your hands are free. Take the blindfold off whenever you want, but you've got me in a mood now, and this won't be over any time soon."


	95. blindfold part 3

Marik flinched when he felt something tickle across his chest. He realized a moment later that Bakura held a feather. Marik straightened his shoulders, trying to predict where the next light brush would land on his skin. Bakura didn't hold to any pattern. One moment he'd drag the feather down the center of Marik's chest, the next down his thigh, and once against the pad of Marik's foot, but that had tickled, so Marik smacked Bakura out of reflex. He'd managed to catch Bakura's arm, although he'd been aiming for Bakura's shoulder.

Bakura only laughed and continued to stroll the feather's tip across Marik's body. It wasn't until Bakura rounded the feather's tip across Marik's traps that Marik gasped for breath. By then he body was hyper-sensitive to the light feather-touches, and Bakura had completely avoided Marik's back until that point. Marik never thought of why. He assumed that, with all the scars, he wouldn't be able to feel something as gentle as a feather. He'd been wrong. Bakura began writing on Marik's upper back. He managed to maneuver the tip in between the hieratic marring Marik's skin so that the feather only brushed against the undamaged areas. The result was Marik feeling _more _than he usually did. He gasped and hunched forward as Bakura worked. Marik knelt on the mattress with his hands gripping his knees.

He felt Bakura's body heat as Bakura leaned forward. Warm breath fluttered across Marik's shoulder as the feather traced around the ankh on Marik's back. His breath hitched again. Marik's reaction incited Bakura to make a pleased, content noise, like a grunt and a sigh mixed together. Bakura shifted on the mattress and leaned even closer. He grabbed Marik's sides with his hands, the feather forgotten.

Marik opened his mouth to ask what Bakura was doing when Bakura licked up the nape of Marik's neck. Marik moaned, his body shivering as he anticipated Bakura's next move. Bakura's tongue followed the same path along Marik's back that the feather had traveled, only the warmth of Bakura's mouth added another dimension to the feeling that drove Marik insane - _why hadn't they done this sooner?_

By the time Bakura reached the bottom of Marik's back - licking Marik's tailbone and planting light kisses right below Marik's scars - Marik couldn't take anymore. He ripped the blindfold away from his eyes. Not because it bothered him, but because he needed to see Bakura. He grabbed Bakura's shoulders and pushed him down against the mattress. The sight that greeted Marik didn't disappoint him. Bakura's white hair scattered around his head. His eyes shinned with the light of the overhead fixture and the two lamps, and his face glowed with an aroused flush.

He gave Marik an unrepentant grin as Marik looked down at him, but it disappeared the moment Marik kissed him.


	96. blindfold part 4

Marik grabbed Bakura's wrist, kissing along the pulse-point below Bakura's palm. Bakura's eyes half closed as Marik worked. Marik trailed down Bakura's arm, kissing his way back to Bakura's chest.

"I wasn't done with you, yet," Bakura said, but his voice sounded soft and mellow, so it ruined the argumentative effect he tried to give the words.

"I told you – you were on a time limit." Marik's tone was similar to Bakura's. They could have swore at each other at that moment and it'd sound like pillow talk.

"You said the _blindfold_ had a time limit."

Marik smiled between kisses. He'd reached Bakura's shoulder and began covering Bakura's chest with kisses. "And I tore the blindfold off. Now it's my turn."

Bakura chuckled. "Your turn? You make this sound like a duel."

Marik swirled his tongue around Bakura's nipple, enjoying the way Bakura bucked his chest up as Marik's tongue grazed Bakura's skin. "If we were playing Duel Monsters I'd have to wait until you declared your end phase."

"Half the time you don't wait then, either." Bakura sighed, more because of Marik's mouth against his body instead of anything to do with their conversation.

"You take too long to make up your mind."

"It's called strategy." Bakura reached out to where he'd set the feather aside and picked up a bottle of lube next to it. He handed the plastic bottle to Marik with a wink. "You need to be prepared for anything."

Marik took the lube. Their conversation died away as Marik slipped inside Bakura; their normal back-and-forth dialogue replaced by heavy breathing. Too soon, Marik felt himself reaching his peak. Bakura's extended foreplay had Marik too worked up. He looked down at Bakura, focusing on him in order to slow the rush of pleasure building up in Marik's groin. He brushed hair away from Bakura's cheeks, and kissed his neck. He used his lube-slick hand to stroke Bakura and bring him closer.

"I wanted to see you," Marik whispered in Bakura's ear.

He glanced at Marik, brown eyes clouded with lust. "What?"

"The blindfold wasn't bothering me. I just wanted to look at you."

Bakura replied with a little noise, too far gone for talking. Marik continued to stroke him, and continued to suck on Bakura's throat. He kept his thrust slow and hard. Each time he pushed forward, Bakura exhaled a loud, high-pitched breath.

When Bakura grabbed Marik's ass to encourage Marik to go deeper, then he knew Bakura was close enough to speed up. He gave Bakura's throat one last kiss before he quickened his pace. Bakura's breathing changed to moans. He bucked into Marik's thrusts although it forced Marik to slow down his stroking. It didn't matter, however, because seconds later Bakura arched his back and shouted Marik's name. The sound of his name out of Bakura's mouth stripped the last control away from Marik. A minute later, Marik shouted Bakura's name in return.


	97. Rishid's place

*****Supersteffy suggested more sections with Rishid. I hope this is okay. His character is hard to write because I think he's a really complex character, but he's so subtle that it's hard to show it.*********

* * *

><p>The first time Marik dragged Bakura over to Rishid's apartment, Bakura wondered if Rishid realized he no longer lived in a tomb. His furniture consisted of a pallet to sleep on, and a stool for everything else. Afterward, it became Marik's personal mission to get Rishid to a furniture store any chance he could. Decades later, the apartment looked <em>lived<em> in, not just occupied by a squatter. The kitchen had a table and chairs. The single bedroom had a bed and wardrobe, and the living room had a sofa, a few chairs, a bookshelf, and an enormous television mounted on the wall - that Bakura had talked Rishid into buying so they could watch sports on something better than the old CRT television Rishid first purchased. Save for the t.v, nothing in Rishid's place looked fancy, but everything was practical and comfortable.

Marik and Gwen stayed in the kitchen making tea and engaging in a heated discussion over a book they'd both recently read. It was the second time Bakura and Marik met Rishid's mystery fiancée. Whatever fears Rishid may have had about introducing her to Marik, he should have known that they were unfounded based on the fact that the two read all the same books, and, therefore, had no choice but to get along.

Bakura smirked, glancing at Rishid. "I'm just going to say it - I didn't expect you to bring home a white girlfriend." She was a small, thin-framed, fair thing originally from Wales that preferred skirts over dresses.

"I could say the same to Marik."

"Ha ha. Funny. Only, this wasn't my original body so it doesn't count." Bakura snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "How did you meet, anyway?"

"She works at the museum. She was interested in my face."

"Yes, I suppose that's why people start dating."

Rishid gave Bakura a look that would have been neutral on anyone else, but on Rishid was the equivalent to an eye-roll. "She can read hieratic. She was curious. Our relationship started as academic and fell into place from there." Rishid settled on a movie and placed the remote down. "I'm not sure when late-night discussions on anthropology became dates."

"It really does sneak up on you." Bakura agreed with a facetious grin. "One day you're plotting vengeance, and the next, you're arguing over who's going to get up and turn off the bedroom light because you're both too comfortable."

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><p><strong>***Yes! I'm now done writing drabbles! I have the last three written already. So - sick - of -drabbles, aaaarg!***<strong>


	98. bath

*****Another suggestion by AngelRosemary.*****

* * *

><p>Their tub was oval, not square, and wide enough for both of them. Bakura sat with his legs in a V, and Marik sat in the space between Bakura's legs with his back facing Bakura. They wore their hair up to keep it dry, and suds surrounded them, hiding their lower bodies from view.<p>

Bakura held a large sea sponge. He squeezed the sponge and watched the soapy water slide down Marik's back before he started gently cleansing the skin. He secretly enjoyed it, washing Marik's back. Nothing calmed Marik quite like a hot bath, and when Bakura took his time with the sponge, he managed the coax the sweetest little noises from Marik.

Steam curled up in lazy wisps around them. It reminded Bakura of the spirits that used to swirl around him as a child, and as odd as the association was, it was comforting to him. With his skin wet, Marik's body gleamed like cooling, melted copper. His skin was warm and soft beneath Bakura's fingers, and the water on his body tasted sweat every time Bakura leaned forward to steal a kiss off the nape of Marik's neck.

A half-formed moan slipped out of Marik's throat as Bakura worked on the area below the gods and above the lower cluster of hieratic writing.

"Are you tight there?" Bakura asked.

"A little."

Bakura let go of the sponge. It bobbed in the water, an island in a sea of bubbles. Bakura used both thumbs to rub the area he'd been washing a moment before.

Marik reached out and gripped the lip of the tub with his right hand, arching his back like a cat against Bakura's touch. "Ah!"

Bakura smirked, leaning close to Marik's ear. "Good?"

Marik answered with another half-formed moan, and Bakura rewarded the sound by tracing his tongue along the top, left wing carved into Marik's back. He continued to circle his thumbs into Marik's muscles. He slowed his pace a touch and made larger circles in order to cover more area. Marik squirmed and shifted into Bakura's hands. Each exhale brought a quiet, content noise from Marik's mouth.

Bakura used his fingers and palms to massage the center of Marik's back. He dipped his hands into the warm water and then brought them back to Marik's skin. The warm water kept Marik's muscles relaxed and allowed Bakura to go deeper into the massage. Bakura took his time, rubbing, kneading, smoothing the tension out of Marik's body. By the time the bubbles started to disappear and their fingers began to wrinkle, Marik was a panting, flushed mess.

"Bakura," Marik gasped.

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to go to the bedroom?"

Bakura leaned forward, sucking on Marik's earlobe and sliding his fingers around to Marik's stomach. "Whatever you want."

Marik grunted at Bakura's words, reaching below the water and wrapping his fingers around Bakura's erection. Bakura became the one to moan as Marik gave him a squeeze.

Marik smirked. "I think it's what we both want."


	99. sunrises are like thiefshipping fanfics

They sat on their old blanket, at their usual haunt out in the desert, watching the sunrise – Bakura more asleep than awake. He leaned against Marik, dozing in Marik's arms despite the growing brightness of morning.

"You'd think I'd be sick of it by now," Marik muttered, more to himself than to Bakura.

"Hmm?" Bakura asked, waking up at the sound of Marik's voice.

"Watching the sunrise. You would think it'd be boring at this point. They're all the same, really. Sometimes the sky turns yellow, sometimes a few clouds make it more orange and purple, each one's a little different, but not really. It's the same thing every morning, and you think it'd wear on my nerves after this long, but I never get tired of them, never get enough. I'm always excited that there'll be another one the next day."

Bakura looked up at Marik. "Yeah, I feel the same. I could stare all day long and never tire of it."

Marik grew flushed. He almost turned away, but kept his gaze pointed at the glowing horizon. "You're not even looking at the sun, Bakura."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're staring at me."

"Yes. I am."

Marik's eyes broke away from the rising sun so he could stare back at Bakura.


	100. insert your Thiefshipping playlist here

*****OhthankgodI'mdone. All I wanted for my birthday was to write drabbles, and all I wanted for Christmas was to stop writing drabbles, lol. So what are some of your favorite Thiefshipping songs? I'd have to go with _Tengo-Flamenco_ by Armik, _Closer, _by NIN, and _Smooth Operator _by Sade.*****

* * *

><p>They lay in bed, side by side. Two brown feet and two white feet poked up from the bottom of the sheets at the foot of the bed. They stared at the ceiling. Beside them, Marik's MP3 player filled the room with music.<p>

"You know." Bakura smiled. "This song reminds me of us."

Marik listened for a moment. Bakura's smiled infected Marik's face. "Yeah, it does." They listened to the words together in comfortable silence. When the song ended and another began, Marik laughed. "This one does, too."

"I was just thinking that," Bakura agreed.

Marik's hand slide down the sheets until he found Bakura's wrist. He brushed his fingers against the side of Bakura's hand in that secret way they sometimes touched in public when no one was looking. Marik shrugged against his pillow. "Guess all the songs are about us – the good ones, anyway."

Bakura glanced at Marik. "Of course they are. By this point, we've been through everything together."


End file.
